


Comfortably Numb

by WaveGoodbye



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drug Addiction, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 228,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaveGoodbye/pseuds/WaveGoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A natural disaster prompts a successful Rachel Berry to record a tribute album for the victims and enlists her old Glee club for help as she believes it will appeal to a wider audience. The only person not to respond is Quinn, leaving Rachel no choice but to seek her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, the characters do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for fun.
> 
> Author's Note: So, it's been a long time since I've posted something Faberry related. Well, okay, no, it's been a long time since I've posted something of substance regarding Faberry. I've had the idea of junkie!Quinn for a long time and it was only really in February that I started to put a serious effort into finding out if it was a story worth telling. I decided that it was and have been working on it ever since. It's completed, so there will be no danger of it being left as a WIP. I aimed for 10 chapters but it turned out to be 22. Bit of a difference. But one I hope you won't mind.
> 
> This is quite obviously very AU but I always try to stick to each character's voice as closely as possible, for your entertainment as well as my own.
> 
> Most questions are answered during chapters but a few things to note: one) Anything after S3E1 should be disregarded when reading this fic. A couple of lines of dialogue from S3 are scattered when I felt it was appropriate but there was no Beth, no Shelby, no Finn/Rachel proposal, car accident etc. two) While Sam didn't return to ND until, uh, I want to say S3E8? Just pretend that didn't happen. He didn't leave at all. three) My addictions in real life have never included drugs. This is purely fiction. And although I have done research and tried to approach a very sensitive topic in a respectful way, I do know there's a chance that there will be things within the fic that will offend some of you and for that I apologise. four) TRIGGER WARNINGS for just about everything, but it's definitely not all doom and gloom (I would have gone crazy writing that much angst).
> 
> Most importantly, though, I hope you enjoy.

_Rachel jiggled the key in the lock for what felt like the hundredth time. It was hardly an infrequent occurrence and so it had stopped annoying her a long time ago. Now she expected her arrival to be delayed for no less than half a minute by a faulty lock. However, this time wasn't like any of the others. No, this time was different because it would be the last time she'd ever be standing at 8E, jiggling a key into the stuck lock._

_With two harsh kicks to the door, matched in time to the key moving around, it swung open._

_Dragging two large, empty suitcases inside the apartment with her, Rachel kicked the door closed. She heard the shower running as she took in the piles of clothes and belongings on the couch and table waiting to be packed, wasting no time as she began to fill the cases. She didn't want to be there any longer than she had to. It was a new start._

_Rachel was an efficient packer. She knew how to fold clothes properly so as to not crease and which order to put them in terms of size or bulk so that there was little to no possibility of having to sit on the case in order to close it._

_They would have to make several trips to the truck and, her nose crinkled, use the elevator judging by the weight of both cases. She couldn't even lift them more than a couple of inches. Thank goodness for the wheels._

_Rachel was organising the CDs and records, transporting them across the apartment to nearer the door so that they were ready to be taken downstairs when she realised that the shower was still running._

_It was a strange time for a shower but she didn't think much of it when her head was so full of other things. Mainly the future._

_"Hey, are you almost done?" Rachel called out loudly. "I'm packing up your stuff out here but I don't know what to do with some things, so you're going to have to tell me what I can throw out. Hopefully everything I don't like," was muttered as she stared at a Pink Floyd record._

_Rachel flipped it over and was reading over the track list, noting which songs she hated less than others, when something dropped to the floor in the bedroom. It went in one ear and out the other._

_She moved the last pile of records over to the door and glanced at the time. "Quinn, we don't have all day! I have a bathroom at my place, remember? With clean running water instead of whatever garbage I'm sure still comes out of your shower head. You'll probably catch something."_

_The kitchen didn't have anything that either Quinn or Rachel wanted to take. The appliances were hardly state of the art and Rachel had everything they needed, including things they didn't. She'd never once made her own pasta —and probably never would— but she kept a pasta machine because it made her feel closer to her Daddy and like she could be a Michelin style chef if she had the time to cook to that standard, which she didn't. But if she did, there was no doubt she'd excel in the kitchen too._

_The only thing Rachel wanted to take from the kitchen was the instant coffee in the cupboard. Not that it affected her personally, but the jar at her apartment was almost empty. She'd had diner coffee better than that. Motor oil probably tasted better._

_Rachel went back over to the entertainment rack in the living area and was contented with the half-emptiness of it. She began to pull books off the other end. She didn't think they were organised in any sort of order but made piles in the exact order she'd pulled them off the shelf, just in case._

_It had only been a couple of minutes since she'd shouted Quinn but Rachel was eager to get gone and the shower was still running. Her brows crinkled once more in confusion. The timing of Quinn's personal hygiene was awful; spectacularly so._

_"Quinn!" Rachel sighed walked over to the bathroom, knocking on the door. "Are you particular about your books or can I pack them up however I want?" The water still ran. "Am I to take your silence as permission?"_

_She took it that way._

_"I'm going to check for books in your room. I don't want to pack them all neatly only to find an armful of books sitting in your bedroom." Rachel listened closely for a reply that never came. "Okay, so if you see someone in your bedroom when you come out, don't shoot. It's just me."_

_The light was on in the bedroom and when Rachel walked fully inside and saw the body on the bed, she started, dropping the box of books to the floor in her fright._

_"God, Quinn, you nearly scared the talent out of me!" Rachel took a moment to compose her rapidly beating heart and crouched down to pick up the fallen novels. "If you were going to nap, you could have told me in the van." Unless Quinn had suddenly developed narcolepsy, it was a valid comment to make. They were due to be changed and ready for a celebratory dinner with their friends in just over two hours. Time was wasting._

_Rachel's head turned towards the door. Water was still running._

_"I thought you were in the shower." Rachel faced her properly this time. "Quinn," she said, more forcibly._

_There was no point getting mad when Quinn looked so lovely sleeping. Rachel climbed onto the bed and kneeled next to her, lightly scratching her cheek with her pointer finger. "It's time to get up, Sleeping Beauty."_

_It took Rachel several seconds to realise that Quinn's chest was still, and one more to notice the needle sticking out of her arm._

 

X

"A living nightmare, I think is what most people here can agree on. Tonight's special Nightly News features, of course, the devastation and effects of Hurricane Fay on Ft. Lauderdale and its residents. Damage is far worse than officials predicted. Who's to blame? Have your say. Seventy per cent of the area is under water, people are trapped, and the death toll keeps rising. I'm told that it currently stands at just under fifteen hundred with more names sadly being added. Tonight we talk to Kemal Valdez, a survivor with an incredible story. All that and more coming up in the next hour."

More often than not, Rachel Berry found watching the news to be an uplifting affair. It wasn't that she was blind to the awful stories, and it wasn't that she didn't sympathise with any of the victims or pray for justice —which would come sooner or later; she had full trust in the New York police department, it was just that the good news stuck with her more. How much people overcame the odds. For the past five days, however, describing watching the news to be an uplifting affair would fall short by a long stretch. South Florida had been hit with the worst hurricane in years and the devastation rippled out to every part of the country.

Less than a week and donation ads were on billboards, radio shows, magazines and newspapers, the television. Rachel couldn't even log online without seeing a charity asking for donations.

It was to be expected, Rachel knew that. She had already sent a generous cheque and three of her favourite dresses to be auctioned. Once a day her twitter account was used to retweet a list of charities accepting and dealing with donations for Ft. Lauderdale's victims. Rachel was doing all she could. She had even begun a fan contest with the person or group (she wanted the biggest donation possible) who raised the most money; they would receive a thirty minute phone call from her.

Rachel couldn't escape from news about the hurricane, nor how useless she felt sitting around catching bits of news coverage early in the morning or in the evening. She was a respected Broadway actress with a platinum-selling debut album, surely there was more she could do.

"You know, you could just stop watching the news if it affects you like this."

Rachel stirred her sweetener around her second cup of coffee that evening, not taking her eyes off the swirling liquid. "I won't pretend to be blind to other people's pain, Antonio. If you don't know that about me by now, I think this relationship is headed off a rocky cliff."

Antonio smiled, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "It's one of the things I love about you. But you're doing a good thing. You're advertising donations; you _made_ a donation as well planning to auction off some of your clothes. You're helping."

"I should be doing more," Rachel sighed. "Did you know that my fathers were looking into moving there just last month? I mean, what would have happened if they'd moved? I would be a sobbing _wreck_ right now and no amount of dresses that some snooty, stuck up celebrity auctioned off would make me feel better. It wouldn't take away from the fact that my  
Dads would either be dead, missing, or had lost everything. Viewing things from the best possible angle, they'd still have a life to rebuild with no money or hope of ever getting things back to the way they were."

Antonio's eyes widened as he downed an espresso. Rachel was being dramatic. "You're not stuck up."

"I have to do something."

"Auction all of your clothes," he said. "Walk around the city naked if it will make you feel better. But it isn't going to fix all their problems. Whatever you do, however much you do, it won't solve everything. It has to be a collective effort, and judging from the country's response, it is. Give it some time." Antonio covered Rachel's hand. "Patience, babe," he teased. "Remember what that means?"

"I have no idea," Rachel responded lightly, gently blowing the steam from the surface of her coffee and taking a sip. The news reporter filtered through her thoughts, actually considering selling another dress —her most revealing.

"To all of those affected by this disaster, we hope you remember that more aid is on its way and the nation is doing everything it can to help. Don't stop believing in a better future."

The epiphany came barreling out of nowhere, full cause of the coffee she had to cough out of her windpipe. "An album!"

Antonio shrugged, moving away from the table they were sat at. It was hardly a rare occurrence that Rachel suddenly needed to listen to a particular song with alarming desperation. Some days just called for it. He had albums that he listened to during certain moods too. "Which one?"

With unsteady hands, Rachel placed her cup back on the saucer. "I'm making an album," she declared.

"A follow-up? I thought you were waiting eighteen months?"

Rachel's grin was wide. Her head shook. "No."

Antonio smiled, catching up. "For the victims."

Rachel laughed and ran into him, kissing him firmly on the lips.

Any idea that Rachel Berry got into her head only ever grew. She didn't sleep more than three hours that night. A list of appropriately-themed songs was compiled, as well as ideas for cover art and her personal dedication. She had a Tony for her second headlining Broadway show and a Grammy to indicate the success of her debut album, so Rachel was confident the record company would support her endeavour. Solo, that is. The hard part would be convincing her bosses that the other names written down on her list would be worth spending thousands of dollars on given that one half of the list hadn't exactly been as commercially successful as some of the others.

It wasn't to say that none of them had become successful in their attempts to break into their scene of choice. They were all doing well for themselves as far as she knew. Rachel didn't have much time to see or talk to her old friends as often as she liked. Life always got in the way. But she remembered birthdays and holidays and had good intentions. Her thoughts of her old Glee club were always fond.

Over the past few years Rachel had performed with _legends,_ had hyperventilated backstage before a performance with them because of her nerves and then blown everyone away with her voice like she had never been anything but ready to be there in that one song. Rachel had shared the stage with lots of people, all of them equally if not more honoured to be singing with her, but there was still one thing she knew.

No-one performed the way her Glee club used to.

The once self-proclaimed underdogs had overcome everything to get to where they currently were. Mercedes and Santana were signed. Rachel had purchased their albums twice, once on iTunes and once on CD. She nearly died the day she heard Santana Lopez's voice blaring from speakers on her way down a crowded New York street two years ago. She practically dropped to the ground as if a bullet had been fired.

As far as she knew, Puck didn't decide to pursue a career in music. He was still in Lima with a business behind him, but he'd been trying to build his reputation back up after serving a six-month jail sentence for something or other. Rachel didn't really know or care to find out. She'd been too disappointed in him.

Artie was getting more demos ready; Kurt was the target of many girls and boys obsessions as soon as he hit the stage a year after Rachel, and Blaine just last year. They all had a strong fanbase. Tina had a moderately-sized following for her small stage roles, mostly community theatre, but her fanbase grew when she began releasing acoustic versions of songs on her YouTube page.

Finn worked in a tyre shop but was also in a band. It wasn't popular, or even known at all outside of friends and family, but he didn't mind. The guys weren't that great yet, anyway. They definitely had a lot of practice to do. But he was doing what he loved, had hot girls around him at shows, and he didn't have to dance. After three years of trying, Finn decided it was best to leave it to the professionals like Mike. And Brittany, when she wasn't working with kids.

And Quinn, well, Quinn was in a good place, doing whatever made her happy. At 4:13 in the morning, it began to nag at Rachel that she didn't know exactly what that was. She was certain that she knew, it was just evading her. The only thing more ludicrous than Rachel not remembering what Quinn was up to was not knowing altogether.

It was chalked up to the late hour.

Whenever Rachel asked about Quinn in the past she had always received a "Good, just busy, you know? She says hi," from her old school friends, so Rachel thought nothing more of it. Why should she? She was busy herself. She understood. Rachel always allowed herself a few minutes every now and again to think about Quinn Fabray and imagine how wonderful her life must be by now. Rachel's smile would be soft and nostalgic most of the time.

When she got the chance, sometimes she'd send Quinn a quick e-mail but it was never answered. Rachel figured Quinn was too busy or she'd changed her e-mail address, which, frankly, was irresponsible without sending a mass e-mail to let your contacts know you were switching to a new name. Rachel had had her e-mail address since she was twelve years-old. If it was good enough then, it was good enough now.

Mostly due to not seeing her for the longest time, Rachel was most anxious to meet with Quinn. She could barely wait.

"No."

Rachel's face was frozen in horror for a good two-and-a-half seconds. "I'm sorry, what?"

Rachel's manager, Johnny, shook his head, disappointed himself. "They're onboard for a solo project, or shared with Kurt and Blaine, Snix, and Mercedes Jones. But an album half-filled with nobodies? It's going to take a hell of a lot more than the persuasive essay that you kindly drafted up to go along with your proposal."

Rachel removed her sunglasses despite the harsh early-August sun in her face, rubbing her temple. "Do they seriously think I'd waste my time making an album with people I didn't fully respect or believe in?"

"Unless you have proof that the rest of your friends are worth it, I'm sorry to say, but I think solo would be your best shot."

"This is garbage."

"Rachel, if I may—"

"The funny thing is, no-one in there knows that I know all of them from Glee —a choir we were all in during high school. If that much talent can come out of half a group, what do they think the other half is like? We were a force of nature, let me tell you."

Rachel's manager began to sweat and pale at the same time. "Whoa, wait, wait, wait. You know _all of them_ from high school? Not just Kurt and Blaine?"

Rachel's smile was a little smug. "Force of nature, I told you. Don't you listen?"

"Did you really let me propose your project only knowing half the story?"

"I have a DVD," Rachel admitted, pulling it out of her purse. "It has what I consider our top ten group numbers from the duration of Glee club, showcasing everyone's voice at one point or another. I wanted the label to agree without having to watch this but if you think it will help, go ahead."

Rachel's manager surveyed her curiously. "I can't believe you didn't give this to me earlier," he sighed. "I'll make the call right now; see when I can get back in there."

 

X

As soon as the project was green-lit, Rachel cleared her schedule and sat down on the sofa with a glass of wine, making her way through the list of phone numbers she had for her friends. She told them of her project and how her label had already consented, so all they had to do was fly out to the city and they would be put up in accommodation while they got to work working out the kinks and recording the vocals.

The cause had every one of them interested.

All but one.

Rachel was talking to Brittany, confirming dates for her and Santana to fly in. "Write it down, okay? It's the 15th, which is next week. I realise it's short notice but we can't afford to wait around. If Santana has something to say about it, you tell her to call me and explain what exactly is more important than those victims."

"15th," Brittany echoed. "Got it."

Rachel glanced down to the notepad in her lap, staring at the number with three question marks next to it. "Brittany, would you give me Quinn's number? I had an old one and I think Kurt wrote this down wrong. It never works when I try to—"

"I would, but I don't have it."

"Have Santana text it through when she gets home. I still need to talk to Quinn about this. I know she'll be excited to be involved."

"San doesn't have it either."

Rachel swallowed a large gulp of wine. "Why wouldn't she have it?"

"One day Quinn changed her number and didn't ever bother to give us the new one."

"When was this?"

"I don't know. Three years ago?"

"What?"

Brittany's voice went softer when she heard Rachel's quiet disbelief. "Maybe two."

That was impossible. It was just a few short months ago that Rachel had asked Kurt — who had been talking to Santana at the time— how Quinn was doing. He had relayed the message that Quinn was good, just busy, but she had said to Santana recently that they should all hang out soon. Rachel didn't think Kurt would lie to her face.

"Brittany, this is really important. I need to talk to Quinn."

"If you get her number, can you call me and give it to me? I miss her."

Rachel couldn't process it. "But if you haven't heard from her in years, where is she? What is she doing? How do you know how she is?"

"I don't. We were just trying to keep you happy around the holidays or whenever you asked. San says friends from school lose touch all the time, it's no big deal. And then she calls Quinn really mean names."

"What about her address?" Rachel perked up. "I'll just…fly out," she grimaced.

"We tried that. Quinn moved, and her landlady was kind of a bitch. Santana said that's probably the reason she packed up and moved."

"Has anyone else heard from Quinn?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, no-one's heard from her."

"I see," Rachel said.

"What are you going to do?"

"It's obvious that I have to find her."

"Why?"

Brittany's question threw Rachel for a moment. Why wouldn't she try to find Quinn? "Because I want her there and she's our friend, and those victims need us. Whether Quinn likes it or not, she's part of the group. We should all be together."

"But she doesn't want to be found. What if she gets mad?"

"She's not going to be mad," Rachel said easily. "Like me, she will be thrilled to see someone from her Glee days. Every time Sam and Mercedes make the effort to stop by, I get a little misty. It means a lot, just like you and Santana agreeing to fly out here and make a difference to those people's lives. I'm sure I'll get flowers and a card the next day. It's the proper thing to do."

"The last time I heard from Quinn, I don't know, I don't think she was feeling very proper."

"Everybody has their bad days, Brittany. You probably caught Quinn on one of hers."

"Yeah, maybe."

"I'll e-mail her again before I do anything crazy," Rachel said. "I didn't say it was urgent in the previous three titles, so it's understandable if she hasn't got around to reading them yet. I'm sure we'll see her next week."

 

X

Adrenaline surged through Rachel's veins when she stood and paused behind the door for a delayed moment, inhaling deeply. Her old school friends hadn't all been together in one place since graduation. A smile began to adorn her face and she opened the door, entering with a dramatic flair.

It was an entirely pointless use of her energy given that the studio was empty, except for Johnny.

He smiled. "Good morning, darling."

Rachel looked around, half expecting them to jump out and scare her. "Morning, Johnny," she replied distractedly. She whipped her head around when she was certain it was just the two of them. "Did you put the correct details on the e-mail? I find it difficult to believe that I'm the first person here."

"You're a half hour early."

"And you just avoided a question."

"Everything was correct, Rachel. Give them some time."

She sat down heavily, sinking into the couch. Her fingers drummed against it. "I can do that. I wonder how everyone's going to look," she mused. "I mean, photos on a computer screen don't tell you everything, do they? I hope it's not awkward. Do you think it'll be awkward?"

"Not for long," Johnny assured, clicking through his e-mails on the latest Blackberry phone.

Rachel knew it would be awkward with Kurt. She hadn't spoken to him much since the day she found out that he'd been lying to her about Quinn. He'd called, left messages, but Rachel had made it a point to avoid him like the plague. But after enough was enough, Kurt had forced himself past Antonio and inside Rachel's apartment, needing to see for himself that she was okay. All he had heard from Antonio was that Rachel wasn't feeling well.

As her best friend, he knew that Rachel never fully recovered from any cold or bug unless she'd snuggled under a blanket with him for an afternoon, watching as many of their favourite movies as they could.

He'd found Rachel in the kitchen, preparing a salad to go along with whatever Antonio had cooked. She looked good, certainly not anywhere near close to her death bed, which Kurt assumed was the case seeing as she hadn't been in touch personally. Either that, or Antonio had finally snapped after spending so much time with her. That was also understandable. Kurt's stare over to him was sharp.

Understandable, yes, but never acceptable.

Rachel recalled the fight they'd had in the kitchen with some level of regret. She didn't fight with Kurt very often, and though she knew that her words and actions were justified, she could never stand family tension. Her fathers rarely fought in front of her as she grew up and she hadn't long learned how to resolve an issue without admitting to being wrong and caving in entirely.

Kurt was her brother now and she loved him unconditionally but she was still angry and had every right to be. She knew he at least understood that. He wouldn't push her today.

Rachel rubbed her hands over the tops of her thighs. "Why am I nervous?" She sighed. "None of this would have happened if they'd been here when I expected them to be."

"There's no reason to be nervous, Rachel. Relax."

"Nice tip."

"I know, I'm full of them."

Rachel thought of Quinn. She had yet to respond to her e-mails and there was something about that which didn't sit well with her. Sure they hadn't left school as best friends, but they understood each other. If Rachel had sent her an e-mail, she would have never waited this long to respond. A couple of days, maybe. But it had been a week, and if she counted all of her other unanswered messages, it had been a lot longer than a week. It didn't feel right.

She looked at Johnny with her head cocked thoughtfully.

"Johnny... would you do something for me?"

"What is it, hon?"

"I need an address," Rachel said. "And I would appreciate your discretion. I don't want this discussed in front of my friends today."

Johnny nodded, accepting her wishes. He continued to click around on his phone, pulling up a blank document to type into. "Of course. What is it?"

"An old friend. Her name is Quinn Fabray, but she might go by Lucy now, I'm not sure. We're the same age —twenty-three if you've forgotten— and her last known address," she muttered, rifling through her bag, eventually pulling out a slip of paper from an appointment book. "Is here." Rachel half-stood and stretched over the chair separating them to pass it over.

Johnny studied it and copied it onto his phone. "Okay, I'll let you know as soon as I do. But a head's up, my sister won't be thrilled at the request so don't go making this a habit, okay?"

"I understand. Thanks, Johnny."

They moved to the same couch and got caught up going over plans and specifics in regards to timelines, and before Rachel knew it the door to the lounge opened, in bursting ten of her friends talking over each other.

Rachel got to her feet with a short laugh.

"Hi, guys!" she said, her tone notching up; a clear indication of her anxiety. "It's so good to see you."

A voice barked an order for the crowd to move and then Mercedes charged through the slight gap, eager to get to Rachel first. She pulled her into a warm hug. "Oh, man, I'm so damn happy to see you! How long has it been?"

"Close to four months, Mercedes."

"No. Really? Wow, feels longer."

Puck appeared behind Mercedes and Rachel stared up at him, noting with fondness how the years had been almost as kind to him as she'd imagined. He was still gorgeous. There was something distinctly different about him, too. Rachel couldn't put her finger on it.

"Move, it's my turn," Puck said, hurrying Mercedes along before an hour had passed and nobody else had gotten a chance to greet Rachel.

They hadn't seen each other in four years.

Puck smirked at her and took her hand, bowing. "The Jewish princess is now a Queen."

It was through another laugh that Rachel got it.

"Oh, my God, you have hair!"

 

X

In the end, the first meeting with her school friends wasn't worth fretting over.

The second meeting, held the next day, had gone just as well. Everybody had been nice to each other or relaxed enough to tease. Kurt had been mature enough not to bring their tension into the studio and Rachel was grateful. As expected, they'd asked about Quinn within the first ten minutes. Rachel told them she was working on it after Johnny had pulled her to one side several hours earlier and told her that it was done; all she had to do was check her phone. Sure enough, a text message was already waiting.

Rachel pecked him on the lips and declared her love for him right there.

 

X

However, now she was inclined to rethink that statement.

Rachel arrived at the building listed as Quinn's home address and noticed, with an air of disdain as she took in the abysmal state of the decor, the distinct lack of doorman or security cameras. She thought that perhaps describing the building as a dive would be giving a bad name to derelict buildings. Surprisingly, it was only thirty minutes away from her own apartment. She'd been expecting a plane ride, at least. Rachel made her way to the elevator and pulled her emergency autograph pen out of her purse, using it to press the appropriate button for Quinn's floor. There was an odour inside the elevator, she realised halfway up, one that she recognised and was horrified to even think about what kind of person it would take to commit to the act in such an unsanitary setting.

Johnny was obviously off his rocker if he thought this was where Quinn Fabray was currently living. There was no way.

Nevertheless, Rachel was looking forward to knocking on 8E's door to have an awkward seven-second conversation with whichever drug addict happened to live there, proving her theory right. She'd certainly deduct Johnny's pay for putting her through this —she'd never once been anywhere as undignified. People called this place home? Rachel would laugh if it wasn't so sad.

The first thing she heard when she stepped off the elevator was nearby police sirens and what sounded like a domestic fight two doors down. The hallway smelled marginally better than the elevator, this time of stale cigarettes, something she couldn't quite identify, and musty.

Graffiti adorned the walls, along with several empty beer bottles neatly piled up in a stack of six on the floor. Rather suddenly, Rachel felt out of place and uncomfortable being there alone. She was anticipating walking out of the building and never looking back.

Her heeled shoes were loud in the hallway, gaining closer to 8E with every clicked step. The closer she got the more Rachel thought of Quinn. This would be a _hilarious_ addition to her eventually released autobiography at some point, and she was sure she would be laughing over coffee about this with Quinn in no time at all, once they figured out where she really was.

Rachel wondered if she was married.

She was in the middle of imagining Quinn's husband, getting as far as his broad chest and how incredible the man looked in a suit —he'd have to look good in a suit to be on Quinn's arm— when the domestic fight back towards the elevator heated up. Plates and glasses smashing with an encore of shouting and swearing were too much of a distraction even for Rachel.

It was just as well now that she was standing in front of 8E.

Rachel looked at the door, dark green with old flecks of blue paint underneath where it appeared to have been kicked at. She frowned.

Yes, Johnny would pay for sending her to this dead end.

Rachel's knuckles rapped on the door three times before she stepped back politely, shouldering her handbag and using two fingers to sweep back the hair from her eyes.

She concealed a faint smile when the door opened and she saw a pale, too-thin blonde with dark circles under her eyes standing there, pulling money out of her pocket. Johnny was never going to hear the end of this. Rachel Berry was never wrong, and she spoke almost right away.

They spoke over each other.

"I'm sorry; I think I have the wrong apartment."

"What took you so l—"

It was a pull of Rachel's brows at first. Confusion. Her head pulled back lightly. Denial. Her eyes betrayed her, darting all over the woman standing in front of her in search of Quinn. In the blink of an eye, rivalled horror began to slowly spread over both of their faces.

Rachel hadn't even recognised Quinn at first glance. Quinn, on the other hand, had no such problem identifying Rachel the second her eyes fixed on her. Worse than a verbal onslaught from Rachel Berry was the gradual dropping of her jaw and the strained quietness following it.

Quinn couldn't tear her eyes away.

It had been six years since they'd been this close to each other.

The years had been better to Rachel than they had been to her. They were always going to be better for Rachel. Gone was the awkward teenage frame, placed with an older, fully developed body in grossly overpriced clothes.

Emotions were flitting over Rachel's face as she looked at her, whereas Quinn seemed to be stuck on the same expression of frozen horror she'd been wearing since the second her brain registered that it was _not_ who she had been expecting, but Rachel Berry.

"God, Quinn." Rachel's chest felt weighted and she considered the possibility of a shock-induced heart attack at twenty-three years-old. She stumbled forward, sliding her arm around Quinn's neck, misjudging the size of her waist when she attempted to place her hand low on her back. Quinn was _tiny_ now.

Arms hanging by her sides, Quinn's expression passed to fragmented curiosity when Rachel pulled back. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked you first," Quinn said.

"I was looking for you." Rachel was giving Quinn a look that was seconds away from getting her a slap to the face. Pity never did well to be directed at Quinn Fabray. Never would. "Do you _live_ here?"

"I'm apartment-sitting."

A rush of air was expelled from Rachel's mouth. She smiled, her hand pressed to her chest in relief. "Oh, thank God."

According to the steeled gaze and the way Quinn disappeared back inside the apartment, door slamming behind her, it was the wrong move to make. It took Rachel a few seconds to register the sarcasm present in Quinn's voice. It had been a long time since she'd heard it. However, persistence was one of Rachel's best and most admirable traits. She knocked on the door again. Predictably, it wasn't opened.

"Don't you want to find out what I came here for?" It certainly wasn't to stare at an ugly green door but that's what Rachel was doing. "Quinn, please, I know it must be a shock but this is important to me. I e-mailed but you didn't reply. It's about those people in Florida. Can you hear me? I can give you the basics through the door, if you want?"

The fight down the hall reached a new level and Rachel sighed. "I can't hear you. Excuse me, but I think it's time I told Sid and Nancy to keep it down."

The door swung open soon after and Rachel breezed past Quinn inside the apartment without waiting for an invitation. The apartment looked and smelled miles better than it did in the hallway or the elevator. It wasn't quite homey but there was only so much you could do with a place like that.

"I didn't invite you in."

"I'm not Dracula, I don't require a verbal invitation."

"Actually, you do."

"You didn't really think I'd discuss a business venture through a door, did you?"

Quinn closed the door no less gently than the way in which she'd opened it. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry this is so out of the blue. Excluding my previous attempts over the years, I've been trying to contact you, rather unsuccessfully, for a while now."

"Why?"

"We're making a CD where all the profits will be donated to the victims of Hurricane Fay. We'd like you to be involved."

It was stated in a simple, efficient manner but Quinn wasn't getting any of it. "What?"

"Which part are you unclear on?"

"All of it."

"Hurricane Fay," Rachel repeated. "The catastrophic tropical cyclone that tore through Florida —mainly Ft. Lauderdale— recently and has been plastered across the news?"

"I don't watch the news."

"It's been in every single newspaper and all over the internet."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't read the paper and I don't waste my time on the internet."

"You live in a dump, not under a rock. This is one of the biggest natural disasters this country has ever seen. You can't seriously tell me that you had no idea it ever happened."

Rachel's clipped, condescending tone made Quinn's back straighten. "Really?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't come here to insult you, I came here to ask you to be involved."

"With the album?"

"Yeah," Rachel smiled. "Everyone from Glee... we're all together again, like old times. It's going to mean so much to so many people and it would really mean a lot to me if you'd agree to help."

Quinn tried to make sense of the reason Rachel Berry was standing in her apartment. The simple explanation was that Rachel wanted her to sing on an album with her. A professionally produced, recorded in a real studio album. She did a quick mental sweep of her day, starting from the moment she woke up, trying to remember if she'd done anything to hallucinate this badly.

She hadn't.

"No."

The answer nearly floored Rachel. "What?"

"You asked, I'm saying no."

"Why?"

"Because I don't care."

Rachel smiled and rummaged through her bag. "I have your contract right here. All you have to do is read it over a couple of times —preferably with a lawyer present, sign your name and join us tomorrow for vocal coaching. Some haven't been singing lately and I thought a few warm-up sessions would be good to rebuild their confidence and patch up any areas that need a little work. We were all brilliant at one point. That doesn't disappear, it just gets forgotten."

"I'm not joking," Quinn said evenly. "I don't care what happened in Florida. I don't live there and I don't know anybody who does."

Rachel searched Quinn's face for any sign of humour, however dark. She couldn't find any. "People died. Over fifteen-hundred people have died, Quinn. This is big."

"Not my problem."

Rachel turned and followed Quinn when she walked away into the kitchen. "How can you say that?"

"What do you expect me to say?"

"That you care."

"Why would I?" Quinn turned her back to Rachel and stretched to reach the coffee in the cupboard.

"Because you're a human being?"

"Maybe I'm part not-so-teenage mutant ninja turtle. It would explain my sudden urge for violence and pizza with my coffee."

"Why are you being so rude?"

Quinn turned around, directing dull eyes solely on Rachel. "You're not wanted here. What kind of message would it send if I was nice to you?"

"Maybe I'm not wanted," Rachel admitted, "but it seems like I'm needed."

It was said with so much sincerity that Quinn's soft laugh was genuine. "How long has it been since we were forced to be in the same room? Six years? If I need anyone, Rachel, it sure as hell is never going to be you. You don't know me and I don't know you, so are you going to tell me why you're still here?"

It was like high school all over again the way Rachel felt two inches tall. It happened a lot during their senior year; every time Rachel begged Quinn to leave those ridiculous Skanks who were dragging Quinn's reputation to the bottom of the ocean under their collective weighted issues. Sure, Quinn re-joined Glee club after a lot of begging on Rachel's behalf, but nothing stopped her from leaving her friends. The Skanks knew who she was, bad parts and all, and never judged her for it, never asked her to change.

"I'm here for a friend," she proclaimed.

Quinn looked around. "I don't think she's here."

"I think she is."

"Well, luckily, nobody cares what you think. You look like someone who clings onto the past, so there's one more fact from high school that still remains for you."

Rachel stared at Quinn. The difference of this Quinn and the one she remembered was so glaring that it seemed to punch clear through her stomach. "What ever happened to you?"

"Your friends are going to be asking the same question if you don't get out of my apartment in the next five seconds, Rachel. You came here to ask me if I'd be involved with the CD and I said no. There's nothing left to say."

"We need you!" Rachel insisted. "There are so many cool things coming up, Quinn. You'd be a fool to miss out. And everyone misses you so much. Nobody understands why you just cut them out of your life without so much as an explanation. Don't you think you owe them—"

"I owe them now? What, exactly?"

"That's for your conscience to decide, not mine."

"That's big of you."

Rachel's shoulders moved. "Maybe you could start with why you gave up on everyone at the same time, or why it took my manager and his connections to track you down."

"Your manager?" Quinn sneered lightly. "You had to drop that in there."

"I didn't know something was wrong," Rachel said softly. "I swear, if I'd known, I would have found you sooner." She hesitated. "I-if you need some help getting back on your feet, I could co-sign a loan or—"

"That urge for violence and pizza is back, stronger than ever."

Rachel bristled. She didn't expect this. She didn't expect _any_ of this. There were a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue but she decided to go for a low blow to see if it would snap Quinn out of it. Her eyes scanned over Quinn's thin frame purposefully. Above the three-quarter length sleeved top she was wearing, her wrist bones poked out harshly. Rachel thought a strong gush of wind would snap Quinn in half. "Aren't you full from your last meal, a week ago?"

A faint look of surprise slipped over Quinn's face before it was gone again. "That was weak. You can do better after so many years, can't you?"

"You look awful," Rachel stated unapologetically. "In fact, I've never seen anyone look as bad as you do right now."

"Weaker. Want to give it another go?"

"You look like a drug addict." Quinn's eyes darkened towards her like a light had been flipped off. Rachel supposed it was natural; she did just insult her to a shamefully deep level. "Why are you _here_ , Quinn?"

"I must have missed this, but what gives you the right to pass judgement here? It's not your home; I'm not your friend. I didn't _ask_ you to come here. Did you see my face when I opened the door because I'm pretty sure it fell off."

"Fine, you're not my friend, but I still consider you to be one of mine. I don't let my friends make mistakes like this without putting up a fight. This album that I'm asking you to be a part of could change your life too, you know. I'm going to make an assumption —maybe it's totally out there— and say that you don't have a job right now. If you do, it clearly doesn't pay what you're worth. I have a feeling in my gut that it's going to be one of those perfect records. I want you to be part of it. It's that simple."

"It's never that simple with you."

"I thought we didn't know each other anymore."

Quinn stared at her. "Call it a hunch."

"Would you tell me if you were sick?" Rachel asked quietly, unable to ignore how Quinn's appearance was making a cold shiver run down her spine. Something wasn't right.

Quinn frowned at the concern on Rachel's face. "Would you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd tell you."

"So, you're okay?"

"A little anaemic, maybe. But yes, Rachel, I'm fine."

That seemed to placate Rachel on the matter but her head still shook, stuck on other matters. "You don't belong here," she said. "I don't know what happened for you to end up in a place like this but it's not where you belong."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Pretending you care. It's stupid."

"I do care. You say that like anyone ever has a choice. It's never up to us."

"I'm not doing the album," Quinn said. "I don't care what it's for or how much you beg or try to emotionally blackmail me."

"That's your decision."

Quinn licked her lips. "How'd you get up here?" she asked.

"What?"

"To the floor."

"Oh." Rachel's mouth was twisted in faint disgust at the memory. "The elevator."

"That was your second mistake. Use the stairs on your way out."

Rachel's stomach turned at the thought of using the elevator again. She would most definitely be taking Quinn's advice. "What was the first?"

"Coming here in the first place."

This was not new. Giving Quinn Fabray space was something that Rachel could still remember from high school. It was a proven method, successful because Quinn always needed the control. Apparently that was one thing about her that hadn't changed over the years. It didn't take long to consider how pushing versus backing off would affect their next encounter.

"Okay, I'll go," Rachel began gently, "on one condition." She pulled one of her cards out of her bag. "You promise to use this. Regularly."

"What happens if I don't?"

"I'll have to come back."

"Fine."

"My definition of regular contact is at least three times a week. I like to talk to people."

"Okay," Quinn agreed softly. Getting Rachel out of her apartment was the hard part. Losing her number would be a piece of cake.

"Okay? You promise?" Rachel was dangerously close to a smile.

Quinn didn't say those words but she reached out for the card before Rachel had extended her arm to meet her halfway. The extra few inches caused Quinn's sleeve to ride up her arm, revealing a red, circular puncture to her skin. Rachel's eyes flickered down to it, pulled like a magnet.

The card and her bag ended up on the floor when Rachel's hand shot out like lightning, grasping Quinn tightly around the wrist and used the other to push the sleeve up until it was bunching high on her arm.

There were five punctures in total, tracking all the way up Quinn's forearm.

The first track mark Rachel had seen was the least shocking. It was contained to the smallest area, red almost as if aggravated; like an insect bite. The second puncture, higher up by half an inch, was larger, surrounded by a ring of purple stretched around it. It had started to scab over, like a needle wasn't as smooth going in or out as the one before. The third and fourth marks weren't as small as the first but their sizes didn't rival the second either; a mixture of purple and red that was stark against Quinn's fair skin.

The fifth puncture was to the inside of her elbow, easily the largest and most severe. It was healing in a mixture of faded red and purple, a large scab covering the wound.

Rachel felt the air leave her lungs. She looked up to Quinn with desperate, imploring eyes. "No." Quinn's wrist slipped through her hand and Rachel closed her eyes like it would erase the image burned into her retinas. Her chin trembled with a weighted sigh and she shook her head. When Rachel opened her eyes again she saw Quinn in such a different light that it terrified her. Her large brown eyes were wet. "Quinn?"

Quinn had quit whatever act she'd been putting on. Now her eyes were full of anger and resentment, both directed at the brunette putting all of this on her. She looked away when she saw Rachel's chest catch sharply at her silent admittance.

Rachel's fingers covered her mouth. "Oh, God," she gasped quietly. Her voice was a little harder the next time. "Oh, _God_ , Quinn, what have you done?"

Quinn pressed her teeth together, her chest moving in and out rapidly. She hated Rachel for this.

"You wouldn't do this. You would never be so— please tell me you wouldn't," Rachel begged. "Tell me it's not what I'm thinking."

"I'm diabetic," Quinn said, with no real emotion behind it.

At that, Rachel launched herself forward and Quinn's body stiffened, readying for an attack that never came.

"Don't you dare treat me like I'm stupid," Rachel spat out. "Don't you dare!" She wanted to say more but a fresh wave of tears stopped her. The reality and severity of the entire situation rendered her nearly speechless. How could this have happened?

"How could you be so stupid?"

Rachel's voice had gone higher in her hysteria. Quinn couldn't stand it. "You can go now."

"I'm not going anywhere! How could you do this?"

"It was pretty easy."

"You have to stop. You have to stop right now!" Quinn's lips quirked and Rachel felt like slapping it off her face. Did Quinn think this was a joke? "Oh, my God, do you think you can do this forever and be fine? You'll die." Quinn stared blankly at her. "Quinn, you'll die!"

Quinn angled her jaw when Rachel dissolved in another fit of tears.

"You're selfish!" Rachel told her. "What do you think this is going to do to the people who love and care about you?"

"It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? How could it be worse?" Purposely staring at her, something occurred to Rachel. "Look at me. Are you high right now?"

There was little Quinn could do to keep that laugh inside. "I wish."

"You're an _idiot_. What do you think everyone is going to say when I go to the studio tomorrow?" Rachel's eyes lowered to Quinn's arm. The evidence of drug use made her heart clench painfully, a sickening sensation climbing up her throat. Her hand gently closed around Quinn's wrist. "Quinn, please, you have to—"

"I have to what?" Quinn demanded. "This is _none_ of your business! I haven't seen you or anyone else from that stupid high school club in years. Let's not pretend we care about each other."

"I do care about you. I thought everything was fine. I figured you were too busy to ever call me back. Kurt a-and Brittany and everybody else relayed your messages to me, they always told me you were fine. They told me you were happy. Apparently they didn't want to hurt my feelings." Rachel's thumb swiped over the first track mark and she pulled her eyebrows tight like it hurt her.

Quinn ripped her wrist free of the grasp, directing a glare at Rachel. "There are no cameras here Rachel, so you can stop the waterworks. Nobody is going to think any less of you if you walk out of here and never look back."

"I could never do that," Rachel said, her eyes back on Quinn's arm. She couldn't stop looking despite the way it affected her to see them.

Quinn followed her line of sight and lifted her arm, giving Rachel an unobstructed view. "Are the marks bothering you? Don't worry, Rachel, every one of those vacations was well worth the price. Now, why don't you do us both a favour and take your thousand-dollar outfit and your pity, and get the hell out of my apartment."

"So, what? So you can shoot up again in private?"

"So we can forget this ever happened. I didn't see you and you didn't see me."

Rachel shook her head. "I'll never forget this."

"I don't know how much plainer I can say this, but you are neither wanted nor needed around here and I strongly suggest you don't come back."

"There are so many rehabilitation centres that can help you. I can take care of the cost. Just give me the word, okay? I can make the call right now."

Quinn's face was blank until she sighed at Rachel's stubborn stare, shrugging a shoulder almost noncommittally. "I can't pay you back," she muttered.

"It doesn't matter," Rachel rushed out.

"Fine."

Rachel's outfit might have been on the crazy side of expensive in Quinn's opinion but she still knew her fashion and the handbag that Rachel had picked up and was elbow-deep in as she searched for her phone was over a grand itself. It would pay for a _really_ good time for Quinn if she was to get her hands on it.

As soon as she saw the phone, Quinn snatched it away and flung it down to the floor. They both heard the glass break.

"You're still an idiot, Rachel," she sneered, "tangled in those stupid fantasies of yours. When are you going to grow up?"

"What happened to you?"

Quinn grabbed Rachel's arm hard enough for it to hurt when Rachel struggled and pulled her towards the door. "Welcome to the real world."

"Quinn, please don't do this." The door was wrenched open and Rachel suddenly found herself standing on the other side of it.

"Don't ever come back here."

 

X

Rachel didn't sleep that night.

She spent it thinking about Quinn, crying enough to worry Antonio who stayed over because he was concerned, and who wouldn't stop asking her what was wrong. It stung when she refused to tell him but it mattered less when Rachel curled against his side and pulled one of his arms around her.

It wasn't her fault, she tried to tell herself. She didn't _know_.

How long had Quinn been trying to kill herself? Weeks, months, years?

What had she been doing the first time Quinn ever pushed a needle inside a vein and injected herself? Had she been laughing? Carefree?

The guilt came in waves.

 

X

It wasn't easy facing the day when sunlight attacked her senses. Rachel took three painkillers to numb a persistent headache and downed two shots of espresso just because Antonio had poured them for her. She looked up just in time to see him leaving the bathroom with a towel around his hips.

He remembered something Rachel said every time she was genuinely upset about something. It always helped to bring her out of it, see the positive side of things.

"It's a new day, right?"

Rachel nodded at him. "Right."

The corner of her lips began to curve upwards in a faint smile of appreciation when she thought about Quinn again; imagining her shooting up before she'd even had breakfast. Rachel wanted to vomit.

 

X

When she got there, the atmosphere in the studio was skies higher than she felt. Everyone was talking amongst themselves or laughing and joking. Not all of them were there to sing but being around each other again, in a professional studio no less, was too good to pass up. It had them all wanting to spend as much time together as possible. Kurt was sitting at the drums, twirling the sticks around in his hands as he smiled at whatever Brittany and Santana were talking to him about.

Finn noticed Rachel first. He threw a balled up piece of paper at her and smiled when it bounced off her shoulder. "Hey."

"Good morning, Finn. To you all."

"Where've you been? I tried calling."

"I lost my phone."

"Where's Quinn?" He crumpled up another piece of paper, waiting for his second victim. He was going to get her in the face. Rachel was just the warm up shot.

Rachel avoided all the eyes she could feel on her at Finn's question. She busied herself with lyric pages strewn on the table, reorganising them in terms of difficulty to sing. "Quinn won't be joining us."

"And why's that?" Santana asked.

"It's not a good time."

"Did you tell her what it was for?"

"Yes, of course," Rachel said. "It's unfortunate, but Quinn can't make it work."

"What did she say?"

"You know, she just... can't manage the time off work. Her boss won't allow it."

"Bullshit," Santana said.

Rachel's mouth pressed together. "Agreed. But it is what it is, so we should get to work. Who's up first today?"

Puck watched Rachel's throat bob with a thick swallow, brushing the hair behind her ears. She looked like crap and he knew it had something to do with Quinn. There was nothing wrong with Rachel yesterday. She barely stopped yapping about how excited she was to start changing lives again.

"Screw Quinn," he shrugged. "If she doesn't want to be here, we don't need her."

"Guys, she can't be. Okay? And it's her decision, so let's just focus on why we're here."

"I say we try again," Artie spoke out after Rachel. "I mean, it's Quinn..."

"So what?" Santana sneered. Stupidly she'd had her hopes high for Quinn joining them. "She had her chance. She's had three years' worth of chances with me and Britt. If her head is still rammed up her ass, I say we leave it there. We can do this without her."

"Let's just start," Tina suggested softly from the back of the room. "She knows where we are if she changes her mind. Rachel's right, anyway; ultimately it's Quinn's decision."

"Tina's right," Sam agreed, earning a nod from Mercedes. "And we've got a lot of ground to cover today. We should probably get to it."

As the buzz and chatter started back up, her friends all around her, Rachel realised that she didn't even get that far yesterday. Quinn wouldn't know where to find them if she changed her mind.

Very quickly, Rachel likened that to Quinn not knowing where to go for help when she needed it. That wasn't an option. It couldn't be. The minute she was out of the studio, Rachel would go back. She was under no illusion that Quinn would receive her being there any better than yesterday but she would have to get over it.

Rachel declined to join the group for lunch when they stopped to eat, running out to replace her phone instead.

She would try again with Quinn.

Again and again, just like always.


	2. Crash Landing

 

 

The next time she visited, Rachel wasn't sure if Quinn was out or if she was ignoring her on purpose. She sat leaning against the door for thirty minutes until one look outside the hallway window told her that it was getting dark out. Not having a death wish, and also having some idea of how her presence would have been received in the first place, Rachel had gone prepared. She pushed an envelope with all of her contact information inside underneath the door, including the location of the studio where she would be spending a lot of her time for the next couple of months.

She told Quinn she would see her soon.

As soon as clicked footsteps on the other side of the door got quieter, Quinn pulled the envelope closer and placed her coffee back on the floor she was sat on as she flicked through various cards. Rachel sure was being persistent. She had given her the address of her apartment building. Quinn wasn't familiar with it but she took a wild guess and assumed it would have a doorman at the very least.

"You'll get bored," Quinn said out loud.

She sat there enough to be certain that Rachel was long gone and then grabbed her jacket on the way out. Quinn needed to get away from this for a night. A day of Rachel Berry back in her life was enough to send her certifiably insane. She'd have to make sure the message to leave her alone was crystal clear the next time Rachel felt like dropping by.

It was a chilly night for mid-August.

Quinn walked four blocks with her hands stuffed inside her jacket pockets, head held high to anyone who dared to look her in the eyes. As far as she was concerned, only pussies stared at the floor and avoided eye-contact in that neighbourhood. Quinn didn't consider herself to be one of those and neither did anyone who thought they knew her.

She arrived at a building and spotted Jackson, one of the regulars and her best friend, sitting on the steps. He was in his late fifties and had one of the deepest, smoothest voices she'd ever heard. Quinn had asked him to sing for her once and found that Jackson couldn't hold a tune to save his life. He'd asked her to sing in return and Quinn told him to get bent.

She stroked his shaved head on the way past. "How you doing, Jackie?"

"Good, baby," he answered weakly, offering her a smile that creased his dark skin. "You?"

"I will be."

Quinn walked inside the building and glanced inside different rooms as she walked past, seeing strangers and people she knew in various stages of a high. She felt antsy, eager to find Francis. In his own way, Francis made everything better. He was the healer. Quinn had known him for three years and had initially been drawn to him because of his Irish accent and how much he seemed to know, about anything at all. Ten years older than her, she enjoyed his wisdom and dependability. He could do anything.

Quinn knew Francis was difficult with other people, so she was grateful he seemed to take a liking to her right off the bat. The first time Quinn had met him —accidentally, outside getting some air at yet another party she drank too much at, he'd looked at her in wonder. 'God, you're white,' he'd said. Quinn had thought he meant her skin. It was valid. Her skin _was_ fair. But just two months later, frustrated with the way alcohol wasn't taking the edge off anymore and the way that it wasn't fun at all most of the time, Quinn found herself in his bed late on a Friday night.

The first time it happened, Quinn was still drunk. She still remembered the drunken ignorant smirk she wore when he fastened a tourniquet around her arm and wiped at her skin with an alcohol wipe. Quinn didn't remember asking what he was going to give her, just how it would make her feel. That's all she wanted to know. Then she would consent.

"Real good, sweetheart," Francis had said, preparing a syringe. "You'll be with the stars."

But the way Quinn felt when he injected it into bloodstream was nothing like she could ever explain. It was beyond words. She'd never felt anything close to that level of bliss in her life. It lasted a few hours, dulling briefly twice for her to lean over the side of the bed and vomit into a bucket Francis had already placed there.

She was fascinated with the powder, how such a small amount made her feel. The next afternoon her skin felt itchy and she was jittery inside. It was her idea to see Francis again. Since meeting at the party those two months ago they usually only saw each other once every couple of weeks, if that. But Quinn didn't care to wait that long to see him again. They met that night and she'd used the same arm to inject into.

Francis wasn't alone when Quinn found him upstairs. He was closing up a deal with a man of similar age, shaking hands and talking quietly so no-one would overhear. Francis liked his business kept personal so Quinn knocked on the half-closed door, alerting him to her presence quickly.

Francis smiled when he saw who it was. "You staying?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't want to."

"Next time." It wasn't a question. Francis nodded towards the table where Quinn dropped her payment and then pulled a medium-sized packet out of his jacket.

Quinn crossed over to him confidently, taking the extended packet out of his hand. Francis latched on to her wrist when she looked as if she was simply going to walk out of the room, so she rose up on her toes and kissed him.

As always, Francis was never satisfied with a shallow kiss.

Quinn's exits almost always had an audience when he was in the room and she felt his eyes on her this time, too. She didn't care. Francis could stare at her ass all night if it meant she walked away with what she wanted. Jackson was still sitting outside when she left and she nearly smiled, dragging her hand over his head again as she passed.

"Night, baby," he slurred. Jackson didn't know where he was, or even what day it was, but he was always certain that he adored Quinn.

Every night for the past four nights, like clockwork, police sirens would blare right outside the apartment building at eleven o'clock but tonight Quinn didn't know if they'd made it a fourth. She pressed her hand to the floor, moving the pads of her fingers across the carpet to feel the texture. It felt unnaturally soft underneath her touch, just the way she liked it. It was the only way Quinn could stand a lot of things lately.

Her music was playing so loud that she could feel it through her body. If the police were in the building it probably wouldn't be long until they'd be banging at her door ordering for the music to be turned down. She could hear it already, determined like there was a fire in the building. It was enough for Quinn to open her eyes and look towards the door but not enough to consider getting up from the floor. It was just as well because the banging seemed to have stopped suddenly, like nobody had ever been there to begin with.

It made Quinn think of Rachel.

She lifted a half-empty bottle of beer to her mouth and tipped it upwards until she'd swallowed the remainder of it down. Her eyes were beginning to sting and no matter how much beer she drank her mouth was still dry. Quinn looked to see if there was any beer left in either of the two discarded bottles around her and felt close to disappointed when a simple plea didn't miraculously fill another bottle. She'd meant to buy more. It had been a week since she'd last stopped at the store. It was getting late, the high slowly dissipating but not enough that she could ignore how warm it was in her apartment despite having her windows open.

Quinn stripped off her jacket and flung the leather away from her. She could see her arms clearly now and ran a finger over one of the track marks. They were a mess, she could admit that, which was the main reason her bare right foot now sported a tiny red dot, unnoticeable to most eyes.

Something that couldn't remain unseen, however, was Rachel's envelope. Quinn wondered if Rachel knew of any new-age creeps who had the power to possess objects because she was positively certain that the envelope had been thrown in the trash earlier, yet there it was, poking out from underneath the couch. Quinn put a finger on it and pulled it backwards, sliding it out from its hiding place. She fully intended to rip it to shreds but found her finger twirling it around on the carpet like some sort of a game, until it was spinning.

She stopped it abruptly, flicking her wrist out to send the envelope as far away from her as possible.

Rachel was not going to worm her way into Quinn's thoughts after seeing her only once in six years.

She sent a text message to some girls she knew and within the hour she would find herself in a different apartment building, surrounded by people and blissfully unaware of who Rachel Berry was and why anything mattered to begin with.

X

Unfortunately for Quinn, that luxury didn't last forever.

Rachel was still unable to take a hint and had persisted to pound on Quinn's door every day for the past few. She would call Quinn's name, sometimes bringing forth a grimace or a roll of the eyes from the other side, and sometimes it would bring Quinn out of light sleep and she would wonder why she was waking up with Rachel Berry in her apartment. But of course that wasn't the case. Rachel's voice was simply loud enough to travel through several walls, a fact that should not have been a surprise to Quinn.

Rachel would stand there and stamp her foot sometimes, frowning hard enough to give herself a headache. But there was no anger now, only worry. It spiked through her relentlessly. Maybe Quinn wasn't ignoring her at all. What if she was inside and couldn't speak?

"Quinn!" Rachel repeated, uneasiness adding an edge to her voice. She'd been knocking and shouting for ten minutes. "I'm not leaving until I see you. You may think you can outlast me, but I promise you won't." Her knuckles turned red from knocking, so Rachel had resorted to using the side of her fist, appreciating the louder sound. It commanded more attention to be paid to it. "I'm calling the cops," she threatened. There was nothing, no verbal reaction whatsoever, just the silence that she was not tolerating any better than she was ten minutes ago. "Quinn!"

Quinn fixed a thin scarf around her neck and looked in the mirror, giving her hair one last check. She didn't care what she looked like even though she had a job interview to get to shortly, she was just stalling. Quinn had the feeling that Rachel was serious this time and she didn't feel like spending the day with her, even if it was through a door. She didn't imagine that even getting high would block out or distract her from Rachel's voice all day.

The chain fastened against the door rattled each time Rachel's fist pounded against it.

"Quinn, please, you're scaring me. I just want to know that you're okay and I'll leave." Rachel felt sick to her stomach even after Quinn opened the door. Relief barely had the chance to register before it was smothered again by nausea and fear. It was a different type of nausea when she saw the state of her. Repulsion. Quinn didn't know what she was doing to herself, she couldn't.

The door closed behind Quinn and she headed down the hallway towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Where?" Rachel asked, following behind.

"Somewhere."

She frowned at the replies she was getting. "I was worried about you."

"Do I look dead?"

"That's not the point. But if you wanted the truth on how you _look_ —"

Quinn couldn't ignore the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. She pushed the door to the stairway open and heard it close behind her. It was silent for all of one second until Rachel barrelled through it. She didn't give her the chance to speak first. "No, the point is that I don't want you worrying about me. I don't want you to remember my name or my face, or that you ever knew me at all."

"I don't want to worry about you either, okay. It's only been a couple of days but I can't think about anything else and it's driving me crazy. Now's really not a good time for me to get unfocused."

Quinn acted like she hadn't heard her. "I told you to leave me alone and never come back, that caring is a stupid move. It's not my fault that you still never listen to me, so no; I won't feel bad that you were worried. What I will feel is pissed that you're trying to place guilt on my shoulders. It shouldn't be my burden and I refuse to let it be."

"W-well, I'm not just going to leave you alone like this," Rachel stammered out.

"You will."

"I won't."

"It can still only go two ways," Quinn said, walking down the staircase with Rachel hurrying to keep up. "You can leave me alone now and we part ways still somewhat disillusioned, not totally hating every part of each other, or you can stick around for a few weeks, months, and have your eyes opened so wide you'll look like a real life anime character. You won't hate me right away; that will come on all of a sudden, so out of the blue that it will consume you. You'll try to blame me for everything that I warned you about and I'll call you something a little more heated than an idiot, and you'll storm out, never to come back, only this time you won't have the option of dreaming it gets better for me because you'll know better."

"It _can_ get better."

"It was almost nice to see you, Rachel. Enjoy your life."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Don't do drugs."

"I'm not giving up," Rachel vowed as she followed Quinn out of the building and on to the street. "Resent me all you want, but I'm staying until you're ready. I'll be back tomorrow."

"I'm not going to answer the door."

"I think you will."

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will."

Rachel's need to have the last word in practically every conversation still drove Quinn close to murder. She spun around, her voice hard. "Who do you think you are, Rachel? Your status has absolutely no relevance here. Go ahead and make your demands, that's fine, but don't think for a second that I give a crap. I don't _want_ you here. Did you hear that? If I'm not speaking loud enough, please just say the word. I have no problem making sure the message really gets through."

For what it was worth, the threat registered in Rachel's mind but failed to produce a reaction similar to one Quinn had seen before. In high school, threats of physical violence would cause Rachel to reluctantly back down until a more appropriate moment. These days, however, Rachel almost adored the challenge. The threats were always empty. It was a battle of wills and she was certainly not going to be one of those women to simply lie down and take whatever came to her. Rachel would always give as good as she got.

"Have you seen the state of yourself?" Rachel asked, unapologetically.

"Sorry I didn't see fit to put on my Sunday best for you."

"My concerns have nothing to do with your clothing and everything to do with what's hiding under those sleeves."

"You mean my body?" Quinn said. She made a quick show of looking at the space between their bodies. "We're not conjoined, right? Your body belongs to you, and mine belongs to me? That's what I thought. So _again_ , your concerns have no relevance here. Why don't you take them and your expectations and get the hell out of my face because I'm already sick of yours."

"What kind of morons do you associate with? Do you really expect this attitude to work on me of all people?" Rachel started to smile. "I think I've earned more than that over the years."

"The six we've spent apart? I'm not so sure."

"I put up with your shit all through high school, Quinn. Don't tell me you've forgotten that. You think you're the only one of us to have changed since then, or the only person to have a rough time of things? No-one else has resorted to illegal drugs."

Quinn looked Rachel over and could smell her expensive perfume in the breeze. "And clearly you've had the roughest time of all. I mean, look at you. How are you still standing?"

"I _did_ have a rough time!"

"Can you just not? I already want to punch you."

"You know how much I was bullied my entire life, how lonely I was. It was one of the things we bonded on that summer when we were friends."

Quinn's mouth tightened at that description of their past relationship. They were never friends. It was a mistake, temporary insanity on her behalf. "I know that high school was a long time ago," she said. "You can't tell me that you're stuck in the past when your present is everything you dreamed it would be."

"What would you know about my dreams anymore?"

Quinn's eyebrows arched. "Not a lot, thank God. But you're happy, that much is obvious. You're practically oozing money and I know you're recording a tribute album, so I doubt you were unsuccessful in any other endeavour you ventured out to the city for. I bet you made it on stage, probably have a few million losers worshipping you whenever and wherever they can, buying anything that you're associated with. In what alternate reality would you not be over the moon about that?"

"The same one where we meet again and I find out that you're a…"

"Drug addict," Quinn whispered for Rachel. "You can say it out loud. You said it in my apartment the other day, remember? You were trying very hard to be a bitch."

Rachel exhaled deeply. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I told you."

"You didn't specify where."

"And I'm not going to."

"Have a cup of coffee with me," Rachel said.

Quinn moved her head. "I'm not thirsty."

"Have brunch with me, then. There's a great—"

"Do I look like I do brunch, Rachel?"

Rachel looked at Quinn with scrutinising eyes, from head to foot. "You look like you do a lot of things. I'm not entirely sure that brunch is one of them, but it could be. People need to eat, you're a person…"

"Who isn't hungry."

"With all due respect—"

"If you respected me, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Rachel's eyes were refusing to look away from hers. Eventually Quinn's returning look was mockingly searching. She shrugged. "So, is that it? Are you done? There is a God," she said in response to the silence. "Goodbye, au revoir, ciao."

"What do you take?" Rachel asked when Quinn had turned her back. "Or are you too embarrassed to tell me?"

Quinn knew exactly what this was but there was no way to prevent herself from opening her mouth. "I'm not embarrassed, I just don't see how it's any of your business."

"I think that's a lie." Rachel had begun to follow Quinn again, her heels clicking against the concrete with every step. "And I think the reason that you refuse to tell me where you're going is because you know I'd be disappointed with you."

"Your opinions or emotions don't really hold much value to me, Rachel. Think of it like monopoly money: useless, really. Something to toy with when you're bored."

"Where are you going?" Rachel persisted stubbornly, making Quinn's mouth twist like a curse was about to explode. "I'll keep asking until I get an answer."

"To an interview," Quinn said calmly yet abruptly. "Jesus Christ."

Rachel felt a triumphant thrill when that piece of information was disclosed. "That's great."

"Not really."

"When was the last time you had a job?"

"Last week. I got fired." In the blink of an eye, Quinn didn't see the point in wasting any more energy that early in the day. She'd save it for later and getting through her interview, which was going to be little more than an on the job interview, something any idiot could do. She'd waitressed before, for longer than she liked to believe.

Rachel peered at the side of Quinn's face as they waited to cross the street. "Why?"

"Some guy lost his hand, found it up my skirt."

"And you were fired because of that?" The ACLU would have a field day with this. She'd have a letter composed by last post.

"No, I was fired because of the fork I stabbed through his other hand," Quinn said.

Rachel's smile was real as they crossed the street with a large group of people. One thing Rachel would never get used to living in the city was seeing so many people she knew. Or thought she knew. Her attention was captured by a man walking past her who shared many of the same physical attributes of her Dad —Leroy. Hiram was still Daddy. Rachel turned to see him walking away, imagining it really was Leroy and clinging to the image for a second longer.

When she looked away to see where she was walking, Quinn had vanished from sight.

X

Rachel was in the studio sipping coffee, listening to her old school friends' suggestions of the album art. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Finn's suggestion of a group high school photo from their Glee days for the front cover but Quinn would be in every one of those and she'd made it perfectly clear that she didn't want to be involved with the CD. Sam and Mike's suggestion of telling a story through graphic novel with them as the heroes and ending with Ft. Lauderdale being restored was appealing but Rachel wasn't sure that people would receive it the way it was intended. By a vote, both suggestions were added to the 'Maybe' list.

A lot of ground had been covered since they'd all arrived at just after midday. Close to twelve hours later they had agreed on the main track and had several successful rehearsals down. They weren't perfect but some glaring errors in pitch and pacing had improved for those who hadn't spent the last six years singing.

Rachel's manager Johnny walked back into the studio and looked around to every face in there. He'd been in there earlier and caught the last half of Mercedes' solo —she'd been playing around, singing a song that had been stuck in her head for two days in hopes of getting it out. Johnny had left with a rough clear of his throat, in search for a box of tissues.

"Who's missing?"

Everybody looked around at each other, silently ticking names off the register.

"No-one, dude." Puck was sitting next to Sam and was closest to the door. He would know if anybody had tried to sneak past him.

Johnny shook his head and pointed down to a photograph. "No, there's someone missing. Blonde."

"Uh, hello?" Sam said.

"Blonde _female_."

"She's right here," Puck smirked, throwing his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"No," Johnny said, turning the photograph around and audibly tapping his finger against it. "The cheerleader."

"That's me," Brittany smiled proudly.

"No, I can see you, darling. I'm talking about her." Johnny held his finger right next to the girl and peered down to the list of names printed underneath. "I'm talking about—"

"Quinn Fabray, obviously," Finn said. "We're not stupid. We talked to her."

Rachel looked at him and said nothing.

Johnny's face lit up. "Wonderful. Rachel, where is she?"

"She's not interested," Finn said, stating the truth, however Rachel jumped in to defend Quinn.

"She just got a new job," she said. She didn't know how Quinn's interview had gone, and it wasn't like Rachel would ever consider that an acceptable excuse for refusing to be involved with the album but she didn't like the way Finn's statement had sounded. It made Quinn sound selfish. It wasn't entirely false given the present circumstances but she didn't want Quinn's old friends to think of her like that. "Scheduling time off is difficult."

"I could make a phone call," Johnny offered.

"No," Rachel declined. "I'm—I'm not sure that it would be well-received."

"I thought you said that Quinn said no?" Tina asked her.

"Because of work." Rachel was never a convincing liar and she'd never hated that more than she did now. Her friends were staring at her.

"Something stinks in here. Rachel, I think it's your bullshit."

She ignored Santana and looked up to her manager. "Johnny, I'm sorry but Quinn won't be a part of this. That's the end of this conversation; we have more important things to discuss."

"Actually, we don't. Quinn should be here," Santana said.

"Perhaps, but there are circumstances."

"I don't care." She looked around to the group. "Do any of you guys care?"

"It's Quinn's decision," Tina said. "But I miss her. Maybe if we try as a group? We could meet somewhere, call her?"

"Good luck trying. Unless you bribe Rachel because I mean, Quinn turned into a recluse about three years ago, yet Rachel miraculously gets in touch after a couple of days. Who knows what else she's holding out on us."

"Nothing!" Rachel denied. "Look, I was just as in the dark with Quinn's whereabouts, okay? Something most of you know, seeing as you've been lying to me about my friend for just as long."

Kurt felt shame over that. He hated lying to Rachel but it was better than not being able to answer Rachel's questions when she found out that Quinn wanted nothing to do with anybody anymore. She would have only worried. He always planned to come clean eventually, just never got around to it because of unforeseen circumstances and how he knew Rachel would react when she should have focused all of her efforts on her own future instead of the past.

"We're sorry, Rachel," he said softly. "But it was to protect you."

Anger heated Rachel's face. "Protect _me_? Do you have any idea how different things could be right now if you would have just told me? You were protecting yourselves, all of you. You didn't want to deal so you looked the other way."

"Where's Quinn, Rachel?" Puck asked.

"She won't want to see you." At the look on his face, she added, "It's not personal. She wouldn't want to see any of you. She wasn't exactly thrilled to see me, either. Quinn has changed, she's a different person now."

"Apparently, with one hell of a work ethic," Santana said. She all but snorted at Rachel's nod. "How'd you find her? I think a chat is long overdue."

Johnny looked down at the picture again. Not that every one of them wasn't gorgeous in his opinion, but Quinn Fabray was the most striking girl in the photo. He could only imagine how she looked now; mature, elegant, a woman whose face would sell, whether it was tickets or albums, he didn't care. He still hadn't had time to watch the DVD that Rachel had given the execs but he was sure a copy was floating around his house. It seemed he'd have to do a little research on Quinn Fabray. If she sounded half as good as she looked then he would drop a piano on Rachel's head if it made her see sense.

Or perhaps there would be an easier way.

"I supplied Rachel with all the information she needed," Johnny said.

"Fantastic."

Rachel's teeth biting down on her lip was the only outward sign of her anxiety, otherwise she looked calm. Her voice came out smooth and authoritative, "You're fired, Johnny."

The colour drained from his face. "Excuse me?"

"If you say one more word about Quinn, I will find your replacement. I hope I'm making myself clear."

Johnny's back straightened. "Crystal."

Rachel rubbed her eyes. The coffee hadn't made an impact. "Look, I don't know about you guys but I'm done. I'm going to call it a night. Same time tomorrow? You can yell at me then."

The atmosphere was heavy and Rachel hadn't expected any more than the bewildered murmurs of goodbye she received but she hadn't anticipated the tightness to her chest or the way protectiveness and guilt battled inside of her. Her friends wouldn't understand Quinn. Not that she understood herself, but she was trying to find equal ground. Rachel had just lied to her friends about Quinn's condition, something she had just berated them for. She didn't know what to do. If she told them about Quinn's condition, Quinn would never forgive her, and if Rachel didn't tell them, they would never forgive her.

She had hailed a cab and instructed her driver to take her home, or so she thought until she looked at the meter and saw that it was triple the price she usually paid to get home. If she'd been paying attention she would have known that she wasn't headed home thirty-one minutes ago. It was difficult to recognise the area at first, but just when Rachel had reached for her phone and pepper spray in alarm, she spotted Quinn's apartment building and the street they'd been talking on earlier.

"Would you mind waiting until I'm inside before you leave?" she asked her driver as they pulled up.

"I could walk ya in, if you want?" he offered.

"That won't be necessary," Rachel dismissed, thanking him for the offer and tipping generously. She glanced around as she got out of the car, heading straight inside. She walked to the opposite side of the elevator and used the side of her arm to push the door to the stairs open instead.

Rachel wasn't sure why she had decided to see Quinn again. She didn't even know if Quinn would be home, let alone awake.

She passed two men on the way up and was careful not to kick a can of their beer over as she went. They didn't speak to her and she didn't make eye contact with them. When Rachel made it to Quinn's floor she heard raised voices from the same apartment that had caused such a disturbance the first time she'd been there. Sometimes first impressions were correct.

She looked at her watch when she stopped in front of Quinn's door and cringed. It was nearly one a.m.

She struggled with that but ultimately raised her fist. However, before her knuckles made contact with the door, it opened.

Rachel stared at the man who had left Quinn's apartment in the middle of the night, not even moving out of his way as he turned sideways to slide past her. He smiled at her but she was too stunned to return it.

"Who might you be, sweetheart?" he asked after a delayed silence stretching on long enough to give her a lengthy once over. It was a little late for visitors who looked like her.

She stood taller. "Rachel," she said confidently. "And you are?"

"Francis," he said. He looked at her a little too closely than she was comfortable with, trying to figure out where it was that he'd seen her before. "How do you know Quinn?"

"We're friends. We went to high school together."

"Beautiful," Francis smiled. It turned boyish and charming when he decided how white Rachel was. They were almost always his favourite kind of girls. "Well, I have to run but it was lovely to meet you, Rachel. Hopefully we can have a chat next time."

Rachel nodded and let him gently shake her hand.

She waited until Francis had almost made it to the elevator before she walked inside the apartment and closed the door quietly behind. The lights were off and it made Rachel feel extremely out of place to be there. She was mindful of the furniture and made her way through the room, eventually spotting light slipping through the crack of an open door in what she assumed to be the bedroom.

"Quinn?" she called out. "It's Rachel."

She pushed the door open cautiously and announced herself again, just in case.

Quinn was slouched down in bed, obviously naked underneath the sheet covering her body. She was awake, and this time there was no need for Rachel to study her closely in order to know she had taken something. She froze in horror, staring at the shell of the woman who was once Quinn Fabray. It looked like Quinn was trying to fight against sedation, her eyes dull and half-open and drooping.

Quinn's head fell forward and she pulled it back up, finally noticing Rachel in the room. She blinked slowly.

Rachel rushed to her side. "What have you done?"

Quinn's eyes closed through a content smile. "Shhh."

"No, I will not! What did that guy give you?"

If anything, Rachel's response further amused her. She chuckled lethargically. "Nothing."

"Is he your boyfriend? Anybody who loved you would never do this to you." Quinn shook her head to that and Rachel persisted. "What did he give you?" She wanted to run after him and slap his face so hard her hand would sting for days.

"Francis," Quinn said slowly "Wouldn't know where to start giving me anything."

Rachel reached out to steady Quinn's head, holding her hands against her face. "What have you taken?" she asked softly.

Quinn inhaled deeply, tipping her head as far backwards as Rachel would let her. "God, you should feel this, Rachel," she sighed. "Everything is so soft —so smooth and soft and beautiful." Quinn's eyes flickered open, smiling the way Rachel almost remembered it from high school. "It's perfect."

A gloomy, rainy night had become the single most beautiful weather Quinn Fabray could ever recall. It was more than perfect. There had never been another night like it and there never would be. Everything had clicked into place. Everything was working like a well-oiled machine. There was a reason for everything.

Tears were beginning to pool stubbornly in Rachel's eyes. Her face was contorted. "It's not perfect," she stated. "It's not even close to being perfect. Look at you, you're a mess."

"No, it is," Quinn disagreed, her words beginning to slur together. "Everything that's good and bad s'just...there. S'just there, and it's okay 'cause it can't hurt us anymore. Nothing can." Quinn shifted under the covers and they slipped down, exposing her chest. Rachel kept her eyes politely averted, pulling the sheet back up.

"This hurts me," she said. "Seeing you like this hurts me."

Quinn stared at Rachel and leaned to the side, blindly groping for something in the nightstand. She pulled out a tourniquet.

The wordless offer struck Rachel with such a fierce pain that she could do nothing more than be still, looking down at the tourniquet held in Quinn's open hand. She stared at that as Quinn stared at her the best she could. It was fascinating to Quinn how fast and large Rachel's tears formed. She remembered how many times she had cried like that before herself, remembered how sometimes the rawness scared her. But it was distant, like a fading dream. She was floating far away enough that she didn't feel it but she still remembered how to make it disappear.

"I can make it stop," she said, her hand on its way to dry Rachel's face. It didn't make it further than her forearm.

The hands holding Quinn's face were lowered. "If you ever proposition me with drugs again, please know that I'm serious when I say I'll call the police." The words didn't appear to have registered with Quinn and her head fell forward again. She mumbled something that Rachel didn't hear. "What?"

"D'you come for coffee?"

"I don't know why I came this late," Rachel said honestly, wiping her face. She felt dizzy with conflicting emotions. "I mean, we were talking about you at the studio and I had to lie and I felt terrible, so maybe that's why I ended up here instead of my place. But why? I don't know." She sighed. "Do you have any ideas?" Her tone was almost conversational but she was under no illusion that Quinn was in any state for anything close.

Quinn's head was still lowered. She didn't even look up.

"You must have some. Why don't you share them, or, at the very least, tell me to get out of here?" Quinn's breath caught like a response was on the way but no words made it out of her mouth. Rachel frowned at her. "Not even just once?"

She dipped her head to try to catch Quinn's eye but all she caught sight of was the drool beginning to leak out of her mouth.

"Do you know that you're drooling like a dog?" Rachel asked snidely, pushing her head back up. "Whatever cloud you're floating on—" She squeezed Quinn's face, slapping it lightly with the other hand when she saw unfocused hazel eyes drift shut. "Look at me. Whatever cloud you're floating on, enjoy it while you can because I promise that you're going to have a crash landing back to earth. However good you feel right now, I am going to make you feel ten times worse. I'll be back here every single day until I see fit and there's nothing you can say that's going to make me change my mind. You thought I was annoying before? You haven't seen anything yet," Rachel vowed, hating to believe that this was happening at all. "And it's not that I don't respect you, which honestly is difficult to do right now, it's because I care about you and you're sick. And you don't know how sick you are, but I do."

"M'not," Quinn disagreed.

"You're dying. You're killing yourself, and you can continue to deny that, be oblivious to it, but I won't be. I can't be. But I'm going to help you, okay? Every day, until you're better." Rachel's thumb stroked over Quinn's cheek, back and forth just once, and she knew the chances of that registering for Quinn was slim. It felt like the right thing to do, because the longer Rachel looked at this version of Quinn, the more she missed the one from high school; the one with demons that now seemed like puppies compared to the ones she so clearly carried on her shoulders these days. It made her feel like she'd failed Quinn on every level a person can be failed.

All those times she'd essentially begged Quinn to let her in, to prove that she could be there for her like none of her other friends could be, and the times she'd said all of that with actions instead of words, they were all worthless now. Rachel had failed.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," she said sincerely. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed someone. I know what you're thinking," she said after a long beat. "I seem misinformed on the definition of a crash landing. But this is still your cloud. And I want you to lie down right now and close your eyes." Rachel watched Quinn slowly slink down lower in the bed until her head rested on a pillow, and then she slipped her hand underneath her head, supporting it long enough to place another pillow underneath. "And I want you to forget everything, except that we're friends, you and me, and I'm going to take care of you."

Quinn's breathing was steady and soft when Rachel noticed it, coming out of her own webbed thoughts some minutes later. If Quinn hadn't have opened her eyes long enough to look at Rachel properly then one might have made the assumption that she was asleep.

"Do you need me to get you something?"

Quinn couldn't look at her for very long, certainly couldn't form any sort of response. She closed her eyes again and eventually Rachel left the room, closing the door behind her.

X

Morning had arrived.

Sunlight streamed through the open blinds and fell upon Quinn's face like bolts of lightning into her skull. She squinted against it, holding her hand up in front of her face. When the blurriness to her eyes cleared, her forearm came into focus. Francis had injected into her arm again, leaving behind a fresh track mark. It stung to the touch, so she didn't do it more than twice.

Memories from the night before were fragmented but she groaned inwardly when she realised that she was naked under the sheet. Though, she thought, at least she'd gotten what she needed from the night. She'd been free.

Quinn sat up in bed and rubbed her face, bringing forth a strange memory of having Rachel's hands there. She dismissed it. Probably just a nightmare.

She threw the sheets off and headed straight for the door, in desperate need for a shower. The living room was as empty as it usually was. Quinn didn't care to have many people over. They always left a mess and she'd always been one for privacy. She didn't always spend a long time in the shower but today the pull of hot water beating down against her body was too magnetic to leave. Quinn washed her body twice and didn't remember what she'd thought about by the time she turned off the water. It was never really important.

The towel was wrapped tight around her body and a cloud of steam pushed out of the now open doorway before she did.

Everyone had seen something out of the corner of their eye before. That's all Quinn assumed it was at first, until that something turned into some _one_ and moved. Her body tightened visibly.

Rachel was perched on the end seat of the sofa, sipping coffee.

Quinn gripped the towel closed with her fist and opened her other palm, struggling to control her irritation at being frightened. " _What_ —"

Rachel looked at her guardedly. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Not that I'm too inclined to care this morning."

A drop of water from her hair dripped down Quinn's face and it was then that she remembered Rachel's hands again. It wasn't a nightmare, it'd happened. Last night, when Quinn was as high as a kite, they'd been against her face and she'd looked devastated. Quinn's face hardened.

"Great," she shrugged. "You know where the door is. If I need to help you back through it, don't be shy."

"We need to talk."

"Not really."

"Get dressed," Rachel said. "I'll wait."

"This is my place."

"I'm aware."

"So why are you sitting there like you own it?" Quinn said. "Leave."

"Not yet. There are things I need to say —many things, and you should probably get dressed. It might take a while."

"I don't know how you got in here Rachel, but I do know that I didn't invite you. So unless you leave within the next three seconds, I'm calling the cops."

"Call them," Rachel said coolly, sipping her coffee.

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Call them. I'd be interested to see who they'd rather talk to when they hear my side of the story."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Are you sure about that?" Rachel challenged.

It had been a long time since Quinn had to read Rachel's body language and it was frustrating that she couldn't decipher it like one of her old favourite novels or poems. Half of Rachel Berry seemed exactly the same as she remembered, and the other half was like finding out there was a sequel; chapters written since their separation six years ago. It was entirely new. Unsure of her sincerity, Quinn accepted defeat. She couldn't chance having the police there with the size of her stash. Francis had been generous to her last night, giving her a little extra of her favourites.

"Please make yourself at home," Quinn sneered, gesturing around.

She closed her bedroom door with a little more vigour than necessary and found it to be somewhat satisfying for close to several seconds. She wanted to wring Rachel's neck.

Her clothes were thrown on quickly, barely taking a look at her outfit as she rubbed a towel through her hair and re-emerged not five minutes later. A question had sprung to mind and was burning her tongue.

"Why are you here?"

"I was trying to make sense of things, I guess," Rachel answered calmly. She'd expected Quinn to flounce out of her bedroom in outrage sixty seconds ago.

"Yes, but why are you _here_? I wouldn't have let you in."

"I know. I realised that as my hand was suspended mid-air, ready to knock on your door. Depending on your definition of luck, it opened without any aid from me."

That was bullshit if Quinn had ever heard it. You had to practically kick the door down to get it open. "What are you going to do, blame breaking and entering on Tinkerbell? At least be straight with me."

Rachel's eyes rolled. "I _am_ Tinkerbell, Quinn. And I didn't break in, I was let in. Yeah, Francis, your seedy dealer slash boyfriend slash dead man when I see him again? He was so kind as to let me in as he left you alone like a cheap hooker, where you could have choked in a puddle of your own vomit. I probably saved your life," she added at Quinn's silence. "I won't hold my breath for a thank you."

Quinn sat down on the arm of the opposite end of the couch. Her expression had changed. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

"Oh, that's rich."

Quinn's voice had lost the quietness it had taken on. "What did he say?"

" _Nothing_."

"For God's sake, Rachel!" Quinn yelled, jumping to her feet. Whatever she was about to say vanished from her mind when she saw Rachel's hands wrapped around her favourite white mug, half-full with coffee. The sight of it was a little like being punched in the stomach and thrown off the edge of a cliff. Panic made her scalp tingle. "What is that?" she demanded.

Rachel looked down to her coffee, wary of Quinn's abrupt change in demeanour. She knew a diversion tactic when she saw one. "Don't turn this on to me. This is about you."

Quinn advanced on her, ripping the mug from her hands. It spilled over the edges, dripping over her hand to the carpet below where the mug and the rest of its contents ended up. She gripped Rachel's chin tightly, holding her in place as she struggled against the force. "Look at me," Quinn ordered, holding Rachel's eyes whenever she could. "Which spoon did you use?"

Rachel looked as puzzled as she felt. "Excuse me?"

Quinn gripped Rachel's wrist next, pulling her up where she was dragged to the kitchen. They were in front of the counter, staring at three different teaspoons waiting to be washed up. "Which one?" Quinn demanded.

"This is the stupidest—"

"Which fucking spoon, Rachel?"

The low, punctuated words made the intended impression and Rachel swallowed, trying to remember. A few seconds later she pointed to the one in the middle. "I think it was that one."

"You _think_?"

"No, it was that one," she said after studying it again. She'd only used it because of the swirling pattern around the edge of it. "I'm sure."

Rachel's wrist was released and Quinn reached for something else, tightening her fingers around one of the spoons on the side, throwing it across the kitchen. She zeroed in on Rachel, her eyes almost sharp enough to cut. "Don't touch my stuff without permission."

"It was instant," Rachel said unaffectedly as Quinn turned her back, not seeing the big deal. "It was like drinking motor oil, anyway."

Quinn's head lifted towards the ceiling. Her face rearranged itself, looking like she had pulled someone away from an incoming train; relieved, upset, and eventually enraged. It was like having a child around, how careful she had to be because Rachel was there poking her nose into every detail of her life _and_ her coffee.

"Get out. Don't make me tell you again," she mumbled.

"Let's not skirt around the issue here, Quinn. I'm here because you need help and I'm going to be the one to provide it, with or without your permission. So let's get one thing straight before you embarrass us both by being under the impression that you're in control here. Last night? Your last binge. It's not happening again. Any spare time you have, meaning any time you're not working, you spend it with me. We will keep your mind active. Busy," Rachel said as Quinn turned to look at her. "Find you something to be equally as passionate about. We'll search listings for a new place for you, somewhere nice but affordable, and you can prove to yourself every day that this version of you is weak, that the Quinn I know will always be stronger."

Quinn merely looked at her. She wasn't so sure about something anymore. "Have you been smoking some of my stuff because honestly, you sound like you're tripping out. This isn't a fantasy, Rachel. It's my life."

"And what a life this is," Rachel said in a saccharine tone.

"It is, actually. To me. The one person who has to live it."

"You sound so stupid and selfish right now, I hope you know that."

"And you're so full of wisdom?" Quinn challenged doubtingly. "You just told me that a hobby and apartment hunting is going to cure me of all my problems. Do you want a slow clap?"

"I want you to listen to me," Rachel said.

"Why should I? You don't have the first clue what to do here and you know it. Last night wasn't a binge, it was just fun. Bumper cars. I'll let you know the next time I plan on riding the rollercoaster."

Rachel knew that wasn't true. Quinn had been out there, more detached from reality than she'd ever seen. The memory of it triggered a fresh wave of anger. "We can do this all day, but all it's going to boil down to the same thing. I'm in the driver's seat now and I don't listen to backseat drivers, period. Maybe I don't know everything about how I can help you, but this is day one and I have the basics to go along with my good intentions. That's a hell of a lot better than anything you can say, so I suggest you get used to it."

"You'll get bored," Quinn said plainly.

"People prone to boredom are deficient in creativity and imagination; neither of which I lack. I'm going to be around now. Get used to it."

"Okay, Rachel. So, seeing as I don't have the internet, are you going out to get the morning paper or am I?"

"I'm going." Rachel headed back over to the living area where she picked up her purse, keys jingling inside as she did so. "I need real coffee. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

"Your trust in me so early in the program is touching," Quinn said, having moved forward in the kitchen to see Rachel. "And you're sure that I'm not going to do anything other than brush my hair and make breakfast when you're gone?"

Rachel turned to face Quinn. "I don't trust you at all."

"And I don't understand you."

She walked towards Quinn and pulled a handle of her bag down her arm, reaching inside it. Rachel extended her phone towards her after tapping around on the screen for a second. "Maybe this will help?" she said, waiting patiently while Quinn looked at it sceptically.

Eventually Quinn snatched the phone out of her hand. She'd been so stubborn that the screen had turned black to save energy. After putting it back on, it felt like that colour had seeped inside of her. A picture of her stash was on the screen; small bags with different powder or pills inside, and three full syringes. Next to that were filter papers —regular and flavoured, a lighter and a bowl with a separate clear bag. In a tightly packed green lump, it had been the only substance Rachel had correctly identified without the help of a search engine.

The picture had been taken on the small dinner table next to them. One glance confirmed that it had gone.

"Where is it?" Quinn asked, looking more unpredictable than Rachel was entirely comfortable with.

"Where it belongs."

"I'm not kidding."

Rachel sighed. "You know, after an exhausting day and an even more taxing night, I still found myself unable to sleep. So you know what I resorted to? Coffee. But as you know, my bad luck didn't stop there because all I found in your cupboard was instant. I choked down three cups before I needed to pee. And I do my best thinking on the toilet —I've written some of my top-selling singles in the bathroom— and it was there that an idea struck me."

Quinn glared fiercely. "If you've done what I think you've done..."

"Don't interrupt me. So there I was, drying my hands in your bathroom, wondering if you were still in the same state I found you in the last time I'd checked but too afraid to look and see you that way again. And I had a headache that wouldn't quit, so I opened your bathroom cabinet for some aspirin only I couldn't tell if it was actually aspirin in the bottle. Wouldn't that have been funny? Berating you for being on something and ending up the exact same way?" Rachel smiled. "I found that hilarious. So hilarious, actually, that I went through your entire cabinet. Now, I don't know if I actually disposed of drugs or if it was really over-the-counter pain killers, allergy medication, and out-of-date vitamins, but I felt satisfied. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Rachel," Quinn warned, squeezing the phone in her hand.

"No, I know what you're thinking and don't worry," Rachel soothed, placing a gentle hand on Quinn's arm. "Your birth control was untouched."

The hand was promptly pushed off and Quinn moved closer, using their slight height difference to her advantage. "Now's not a good time to piss me off."

"I was satisfied until I left the bathroom," Rachel continued. "And then everywhere I looked felt like a potential hiding place, so I put on some marigolds and I did a spring clean, however late it may be. You had some creative hiding places, I'll give you that. Some were cliché; I'll also give you that. And I put each and every packet or item on the table until I was confident that I'd found everything. That's when I snapped the photo you just saw."

"Where is it?" Quinn asked tightly. "Because I swear to God, if you've flushed _any_ of it—"

Rachel felt a little insulted. "When have you ever known me to half-ass anything, Quinn? I dumped it. All of it. Some was flushed, some was thrown out. And I've never felt so satisfied. I even took another picture to commemorate the occasion. If you look at the phone and flick the screen, it'll be right there."

Quinn's hand moved as if she was readying herself to deliver a slap, but it was never directed. The phone clattered to the floor as both of her hands instead flew outwards, each fisting a handful of Rachel's top as she shoved her against the wall. She glared at Rachel, her face twisted. What she could have sworn was hate pumped furiously to every cell in her body, making her pull Rachel closer before slamming her back against the wall. Quinn did it again, and once more after that, and Rachel kept her eyes closed, not wanting to have yet another image of Quinn that she could neither stand nor recognise.

It was another mistake. One Rachel would have to learn from.

Aside from a slight groan at the force, she didn't say a word.

Quinn drew Rachel away from the wall and alternately walked forwards, pressing her against it. She gripped the top of her arms and heard a pained intake of breath that was little compensation to her present fury. Their breaths were harsh and Quinn could feel her hands shaking even when they were crushing in their grip. It was over-exertion but it was also more than that. She closed her eyes, angling her head downward.

"I glassed a girl the last time I felt like this," Quinn admitted. She gripped Rachel harder, struggling internally until she let go without forewarning, beating her hand against the wall beside Rachel's face. "Fuck, Rachel!" she exploded. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Helped you!"

Quinn wrenched herself away from her, walking away with her hands clasped together tightly behind her head. She made a desperate, frustrated sound, half of it getting stuck in her throat. "I'm..."

"I know you're mad at me," Rachel said, "so mad that you're lost for words, and I know you don't understand, but you will. So, whatever, be mad at me. React any way you feel you have to, but know this: one day you'll thank me, and one day I'll be so proud of you that I won't know what to say either. You'll appreciate this morning so much and it will be such a relief to think of. It's the start of a new chapter."

"I don't care!"

"But you will." Rachel straightened her top and moved away from the wall. "I know a lot about being mad at someone. Lately I've learned more than I ever wanted to. Last night I was sitting here and I was so mad at you that I actually thought about hitting you. A slap. I've never thought about that before, not seriously. It was only partially gratifying."

Quinn looked at Rachel in disdain. "You should try it, it helps."

"Well... it turns out that I don't need to hit you in order to hurt you back," Rachel said. She saw Quinn exhale heavily, probably restraining herself from bashing her skull in. It was an appreciated effort. "Sit tight, I'm going to get coffee and that paper."

"Black."

"What?"

"I take my coffee black," Quinn clarified hollowly. What was she going to do now? It had taken a lot of time, effort and money to even build a stash and Rachel had literally flushed it down the toilet.

"Okay." Rachel headed over to her and held out her hand. At the arched eyebrow, she lifted one of her own. "Your money for the coffee?" Quinn's eyes were dangerous and Rachel remained unaffected. "Enjoy your cup of instant," she said, going to pick her bag up from the floor where it had fallen. "I have your key. If you think running out will solve anything, remember that I'll still be here when you get back."

Those were Rachel's parting words. After that, Quinn heard the door close and it was accompanied by the loudest silence she could remember. It felt endless and all encompassing. To break it, and also not knowing how else to release some of the tension coiled up tight in her body, she lifted the white mug from the carpet and cried out, tossing it across the apartment as hard as she could.

Quinn sank to the floor and screamed.

One of her body's natural responses was apparently to cry, and she couldn't have been angrier about that. But it turned out that the angrier she got, the more she cried, thus the start of a vicious cycle.

Last night was coming back.

She'd held a tourniquet out to Rachel.

Quinn shook her head to shake the memory away. When that didn't work, she slammed her head backwards against the wall. She wanted to do it again when her actions from just a few moments ago caught up with her.

She could see the mug in pieces on the floor. She didn't know if Rachel was still vegan, but Quinn knew the answer if she was to ask if Rachel preferred milk or heroin in her coffee.

She ended up in her bedroom, kneeling down in front of her open closet. Quinn rooted at the back until she had her hand in an old shoe box and felt around until she could feel hard plastic. It was her emergency syringe. She looked at it like it was gold and crawled over to her nightstand, bringing out the tourniquet to fasten around her arm. She pulled it tight and used her teeth to uncap the needle.

Quinn injected it slowly and before she knew it, everything felt better.

Much better.


	3. Catch Me While I'm Sleeping

It felt like hell.

Rachel watched her like a hawk. She'd talk _constantly_ , pick up anything that was put down and deny ever touching it when Quinn would ask where it had gone. If Quinn wanted to play hide and seek with her personal belongings then she would have said so. Rachel woke up early when she didn't have to and always made sure to make enough noise that it wouldn't be surprising if the entire floor was awake at a decent hour. She'd made breakfast each of the two mornings, fruit and a personal favourite brand of yoghurt for herself, with a bowl of generic cereal for Quinn that was already in the cupboard.

Curiously, it had tasted both over-sugared and stale each of the two mornings that Quinn had it. She couldn't remember when it had been purchased but Rachel had assured her that it was in date, so she ate it. She didn't have much of a choice. It made her feel nauseated on the second morning but Rachel assumed it was a trick to get out of having breakfast and so Quinn forced it down with nothing more than an ill-disguised look of annoyance.

Rachel timed Quinn in the shower. She even walked her to work.

All of those things added up and it felt a little like comeuppance when Quinn left her bedroom and walked in on Rachel's conversation to whoever she happened to be on the phone with. Quinn had the upper hand as she had yet to be spotted.

"I can't tell you that," Rachel said quietly. "I'm fine, I promise. No, I did not get on the wrong side of a mobster!" she laughed. "A friend's. She's being very good to me, don't worry." Rachel bit her lip as she listened. "Yeah, I'll see you later. I've missed you too, Tony. Okay, I can't wait. Bye."

Quinn rather enjoyed the moment Rachel's casual glance landed on her standing in the doorway produced a respectable jump.

"I didn't know you were there."

"Obviously."

"What are you doing..."

"I live here, which is more than you can say."

"No, I meant hiding. Eavesdropping."

Quinn breezed past Rachel and sat in the armchair, away from her. "Just wondered if you would say anything interesting."

"And?"

"That was kind of my reaction too, until you got to the part about me being a good friend. What kind of friends do you have, and at what point have I treated you like one? I'm awful to you and you take it because... I don't know. Because you think that if you prove yourself just a little more it'll be okay and people will see that you're more than your insecurities. Wow, you've changed."

"I have changed," Rachel said calmly. "My friends are wonderful but please don't think that overheard compliment held any truth to it. I know you're being mean. I was trying to ease someone's concerns at not seeing me for a couple of days."

"Tony? Who is that?"

"Antonio."

"Who is _Antonio_ , another fag to your hag?"

"Antonio is not gay."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Quinn asked.

"My personal life is my business."

"So you're gay ?"

"I like that you're taking an interest in my life, Quinn, but I'm sure you understand that you're not getting any answers until I do."

It was Quinn's cue to ask what questions Rachel meant but she didn't give her the satisfaction. She scratched the top of her arm and made a mental note to buy more coffee as hers was running low. She'd had to double her intake of caffeine the past couple of days. It was hard to sleep anyway, but it was harder knowing that Rachel was only a room away, sleeping on the couch. So far she hadn't heard her snore or talk in her sleep but that couldn't be considered an upside. There was no upside. There was rock bottom and then there was that level underneath. More than ever, Quinn was certain it existed.

It was mid-morning and Quinn had to be at work for three. She had six hours to kill. Or one person, depending on her mood. Judging from the way Rachel was flicking through a magazine like it had inflicted physical pain, it would end up being the latter. She didn't have time for this. All they had done for two days was argue. She still harboured intense feelings of anger and resentment for what Rachel did to her stash and found that whenever she thought about it any patience for Rachel being there vanished.

Jackson had called her.

Quinn hadn't shown up to their weekly get together and knew it. Jackson was a few years older than her father and there had never been any sort of relationship there but friendship. She loved to be around him. There was an element of excitement to being in his company, but she also didn't remember feeling so relaxed in years. Her state of mind never altered that opinion.

She didn't answer the phone because of Rachel, because she was barely alone for one fucking second.

"This is ridiculous," she stated, causing Rachel to look up from her magazine. "We're getting nowhere."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I need to be alone."

"Then go to your room. I'll be in to check on you every fifteen minutes."

"I'm not a sick toddler. Look, how about a compromise? You give me my key back and stop forcing yourself into my life like this, and I'll do something for you. What is it that you want?"

Rachel smiled. "I'm so glad you asked. What I want, Quinn, is for you to trust me. I'm not doing this for some kind of revenge. You're doing great. I know you've been moody and I'm sure you're desperate to get out that door—"

"You have no idea."

"But you haven't even tried," Rachel continued. "And that's so great, Quinn."

It was difficult to grasp that Rachel believed the words coming out of her mouth but then again, Quinn wanted her to just so she could throw them back in her face when the time came.

"What if I wanted people over?" Not likely, but still. It was a valid question.

"Are your friends respectable? Clean? Then no, I'm sorry," she said. "You can't have them influencing you. It's like trying to stay on a strict diet when your friend is sitting there with a piece of cake. Eventually you're going to ask to share and count them as invisible calories. It's a lie."

"I love that you're comparing the two," What did she know about withdrawal, anyway? Did Rachel have the first clue? So far the evidence was pointing towards a no. "What if someone I know comes here? Do you expect me to turn them away because you wouldn't approve?"

"I wouldn't even put you in that position. I would deal with it for you and tell them that under no circumstance are they to ever come here again."

That was reassuring. Oh, the stabbing pain in her head was back.

"I need to go out. Alone. There's someone I have to see."

Rachel snorted. "I'll bet. You know what? If _Francis_ knocks on your door, I'll be sure to step outside with him. He did say we needed a chat next time."

"That's not going to happen."

Quinn looked pale and tired. Rachel hadn't gotten used to seeing her like that yet. She wondered how long it would take for the dark circles under Quinn's eyes to go away and how many meals she'd have to watch her eat for the weight to start going back on. Maybe she would cook for them later, or pour Quinn's cereal into a larger bowl tomorrow morning. It was so full of sugar that she dreaded what it would do her teeth but they'd cross that bridge if they came to it. Rachel's dentist was fantastic, anyway.

She had missed calls too, responsibilities she'd been slacking on because she couldn't leave Quinn alone. There was only so much she could do when Quinn was at work and that included freshening up at her own apartment and trying to put together an album with friends, some of whom she hadn't seen in years.

Rachel had things to do and people to see, too. She'd like to be able to keep up with them _and_ not worry but there was just one gaping flaw in that plan.

"If you have errands, it's fine, we can go together. I also have things I need to do."

"How is that smart?"

"Because I'll know you're safe and I won't have to worry that you've relapsed."

Quinn asked that question because she couldn't breathe having someone around her twenty-four seven and needed some space, preferably a lifetime's worth, but when she thought about it properly it made sense.

"What if you're seen with me?" she asked. "This isn't a rundown diner in the corner of nowhere or a conversation in the street you're talking about. We're not going to stay in the same space for a few minutes, we'll be more in the city."

"Yes?"

"Don't you think it's going to look bad if you're spotted with me? Your reputation will be trashed."

Rachel took a moment too long to shrug in Quinn's opinion. "It's fine. It's not like I get recognised every single time I leave the apartment. It's easier to blend in than you'd think."

"Yeah, but there's still that chance," Quinn pressed on. "Say goodbye to your endorsements, your stuck-up underage fans who would be disgusted to think of you with even a cigarette in your mouth. The press will rip you to shreds."

"Am I supposed to believe you care?"

"You can believe whatever will make you feel better. You don't trust me, remember? But the truth is that I can't do this. It's like big brother is here. You can still come over if you have to, but I need some space. I think I've earned it."

"You may think you have, but I know you haven't," Rachel said. "Not yet."

"Why are you making my recovery all about you? You can't control every move."

Rachel knew Quinn was used to having all of the control. She understood how difficult it must be to let go of that but she didn't know how much that knowledge would mean to Quinn; probably less than her knowing that Rachel hadn't been able to sleep properly at night since what had happened, that one particular nightmare was all she could see.

It was like her own personal movie, which sounded great in theory but in reality ended up more like not being able to wake up from a nightmare. It would play out in full despite her desire to never see it again. It wasn't as if she could clasp her hands over her eyes like a child watching their first scary movie.

She remembered reading somewhere that it took no more than ten minutes to forget the majority of events in dreams and nightmares yet hers were still scarily vivid and present in her mind.

Perhaps Quinn was right; maybe she couldn't control every move, but she would be damned if she'd sit back and watch her ruin progress by making decisions that would inevitably put her in the ground.

"We go out together or we don't go at all, it's up to you." Rachel told her, bringing forth a strained quiet where she couldn't quite decipher Quinn's look.

It was just as well.

X

They ended up staying in.

Quinn made it a priority not to talk to Rachel —difficult as Rachel never seemed to close her trap— and made it to two-fifty in the afternoon by using no less than all of her will. She got as far as the front door when Rachel appeared behind her, seemingly finished with the multiple pages of lyrics she'd been studying.

They walked the seven minutes to the diner in silence.

Rachel stopped outside of the building, heavily clued in to Quinn's irritability. In a strange way she found herself admiring her for making the effort to go to work. She couldn't imagine herself in the same position but she did know that work would be the last thing on her mind. Then again, it wasn't as if money was an issue for Rachel. It wouldn't matter to her bank account if she decided to take some time off.

"I'll see you after work," Rachel said.

Quinn walked away.

There was a coffee shop nearby. Rachel stayed and sat down on one of the only chairs facing the large window displaying the street. It was hard and uncomfortable but the coffee was the perfect balance of smooth and warm as she drank it, so it didn't seem to be a problem. Of course it wasn't. It was a chair, some stupid fucking chair that she could get up out of any time she wanted without feeling like she was abandoning it, or that her action would cause some catastrophic consequence.

More people came in and out of the shop than Rachel expected. She watched all of them walk past the window and played a game where she would guess which of them were passing by and who was there to fuel up. Her reward for getting an answer correct was a sip of coffee. It was peculiar that a wrong answer also produced the same action but it was justified. It was her game and it made her feel better.

For a while, she didn't know how long but her coffee never got past the point of lukewarm, it made Rachel feel better to sit alone in a coffee shop and judge every person walking through the door. Why did they _need_ coffee? Why was everybody so obsessed with it? What was so terrible in their lives that they couldn't find enough happiness to power through an afternoon without a flavoured latte? It was the staple to people's mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights, and for what? A brief surge of energy and alertness. It was ridiculous to her as she sat doing the same thing as everybody else.

Antonio text when her cup had maybe two big mouthfuls left in it, letting her know what time he would be free. She would soon have to make a move if she wanted to get back to her apartment in time but when she was asked if she'd like a refill, Rachel nodded. She drank half of it and got up to leave.

She stopped outside of the diner, on her way to a busier road where she'd probably spend five minutes trying to flag down a cab. It was fairly crowded for that time of the day but she couldn't spot Quinn anywhere.

Accountability and anger seemed to fly out of nowhere, crashing into her like tangible blows. But Rachel had always been very quick to jump to conclusions, eager to move forward to the next stage; a trait which sometimes led her to unnecessary hurt.

Quinn came out from somewhere behind the counter with two plates in her hands, looking no more happy about being there than she did at the apartment with Rachel an hour ago. Quinn set them down in front of two middle-aged women and said something that Rachel couldn't make sense of. She'd never been good at reading lips.

Quinn reappeared at the table not half a minute later to refill their iced tea, leading Rachel to delude herself into thinking that if she'd thought about it, she did see Quinn's mouth forming those words.

It was honest work; something equally easy and difficult to do under different circumstances, and though Rachel had bucketfuls of admiration for the people who worked jobs they despised in order to get by, Quinn didn't belong there. She was too smart. It was too much wasted potential.

X

Rachel was relieved to see Antonio.

She turned into his body as soon as they were through her door, wrapping her arms around his thick frame and letting his arms encircle her. Antonio's chest was firm against her cheek and she enjoyed the familiarity and safeness to it. He always gave good hugs, always made her felt cared for and special.

Antonio couldn't help but drop his head to be able to smell her shoulder. "Where have you been? You reek of scented candles and... is that weed? Rachel," he chuckled, surprised.

She pulled back and pinched some material, pulling upward and leaning down to sniff. She couldn't smell anything different than the way her clothes usually smelled but imagined Quinn probably enjoying more than a handful of joints or bowls in her apartment, enough for it to seep into the walls and couch; where she happened to have slept for the past couple of nights.

"No," she said.

"Hey, I'm not judging. We all need something to take the edge off every now and then."

"I said no, Tony," Rachel snapped, looking regretful a moment later. "I'm sorry; it's just been a strange couple of days."

He shrugged and let her completely untangle her arms from his body. They walked further into the apartment, eventually to the kitchen where Rachel poured herself a glass of water.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I really wouldn't know where to start or even how to stop, so no. I think it's best if we don't."

"Can you at least tell me where you've been?" Antonio asked. "I've been worried. Usually you're in touch. Your friends even kept schtum."

"I was with an old friend," Rachel told him, at least giving him that much.

"You look tired."

"Can we please talk about something else? I'm fine; I just need to hear something real. Talk to me about you. How did your audition go yesterday?"

Rachel had time with Antonio and managed to eat lunch, shower, and pack an overnight bag this time. It was something she'd needed. She needed to be around someone who didn't know Quinn Fabray. Antonio had heard about her —Rachel liked to tell stories of high school— but it had been the good stories, or tamer versions of the bad. He would never think to bring up her name around Rachel at a time like this. It gave her the room she needed to breathe.

She was on her way to the studio when she called Dante, one of her favourite and most trusted bodyguards when she had signings or public events. He was parked outside Quinn's diner.

"Is she there?"

"Yeah, she's still here," Dante said, eyes on the skinny white girl who was apparently important enough for Rachel to keep tabs on. He didn't know why. "Left not long ago for about thirty minutes. Went outside with a big-ass drink but just walked. Didn't talk to no-one."

Rachel felt her shoulders deflate a little. "I owe you."

"Yeah, four-hundred."

Rachel smiled. "I remember. I'll come to you later, okay? Be discreet about following her home and wait around the corner. I can meet you and settle it for the week."

"Alright, I'll see you then."

She arrived at the studio and walked past an unfamiliar blonde woman at the reception desk. They hadn't been introduced and usually Rachel made it a point to introduce herself to people and at least find out their names but she still hadn't gotten around to that. Today was hardly the time. She caught the woman's eye as she approached, stating her name as she wrote it down on the clipboard on the desk and that her manager was expecting her in lounge 'A' before heading off in that direction.

All eyes were on Rachel as she entered the room.

"Look who finally showed up," Mercedes teased.

"Have I missed anything?"

"Just some practice, but it's not like you have to be here for all of that." She didn't know why Rachel insisted on being at the studio every time some or all of them got together. They'd be spending a lot of time together in the next couple of weeks; it was perfectly okay to take one afternoon off. Kurt and Blaine had been there all morning and had gone home for the day.

"Where's Quinn?" Brittany asked, looking behind Rachel as if she still expected her to appear.

"At work."

Santana shook her head but didn't say anything. Finn, Artie, Sam, and Puck were in an adjacent room with instruments, visible because of the glass panels in the walls. Puck carried a guitar with him as they rejoined the group and once again Rachel was being stared at.

She sat down next to Mike, slouching down against the leather.

"I'll say this once more and then I'd like to get to work. Quinn's not here, she's working. I've asked her to be here, I've begged, and there's nothing she can do. She's sorry. _I'm_ sorry. I wish there was something I could do but there isn't."

Mike was probably the safest person Rachel could have sat next to. He smiled in understanding and looked around, taking the attention away from her by asking his friends if they wanted to see the progress on a poster he'd been working on since their project had been given the go ahead. It put them back on track.

The poster was mostly completed; all he had to do was incorporate the album title into it and complete the colouring to several areas.

It was his suggestion from the other night; a graphic-novel style drawing of them all. They were amongst hundreds of strangers saving victims of the hurricane, only they weren't as they were now. Rachel was only able to spot herself because Mike pointed her out; dressed in a skirt and reindeer sweater with penny loafers and tights as she singlehandedly held a car up with one hand, offering the other to a frightened little girl trapped underneath.

Everyone was pointed out on the poster and there was a _lot_ of noise; laughter and excited chatter. Questions came without pause. Santana wanted to know why Sam's power wasn't wrapping his lips around the city and drinking up the flood water, for one thing.

Every one of the people Mike had drawn were average people doing extraordinary things.

Rachel was in awe of his talent and couldn't drag her eyes away. It was like a Where's Waldo, so much detail had been put into it. She smiled when she saw cartoon Rachel again. Hilarious. Next to her own act of heroism were strangers handing out food and water to groups of people in need, people in boats rowing to out towards others and animals trapped in the water.

A little over from that were men and women —young, old, and in between— working on a house. It'd been on the news. The amount of relief workers trying to rebuild the broken was wonderful, and also so much inspiration that Rachel didn't know what to do with it all. She was about to look away to the next section when a familiar WMHS cheerleading outfit caught her attention.

It was cartoon Quinn.

Mike hadn't announced it in front of the group but Rachel knew it was her. It couldn't have been anybody else. There were two other girls in the same outfit, scattered around.

Cartoon Quinn was at the foot of steps leading down from a damaged porch and had a tree slung over her shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Rachel linked her arm through Mike's. He still believed in Quinn.

"Thank you," she said.

Mike's poster was only the beginning of advertisement ideas. Kurt and Blaine were called back to the studio and after everyone had fawned over the poster once more, they all agreed to announce the single and album to the fans a few days earlier than previously established. It would be a simple video message via social networking sites on the internet to announce the people involved with all of the ways the fans can support them in the meantime.

It would be simple, but with all of them crammed into one frame Rachel knew the response would be immense. She would avoid the internet for a few days. It wouldn't be too difficult; it wasn't like she had much free time to browse on her laptop or phone. Quinn took up a lot of her attention and had a knack for throwing or dropping things. Rachel's phone happened to be the victim twice now.

Food was ordered in but Rachel opted to save herself until later. Who knew if Quinn had even eaten since breakfast? She'd have to make sure dinner was consumed. Finn talked about his band and said that when he and his friends were done recording the album and everything that came with it, they should all visit him in Indiana. Everybody agreed, because it was the sort of thing that old friends agreed to when they saw each other again.

They discussed their lives since last being together, stories ranging from as high as awards and recognition of their talents and as low as jail. One night Puck had decided that he wasn't drunk and drove home from a bar. He'd crashed, thankfully not hurting himself or anybody else, and the police had showed up. His blood alcohol level had been through the roof and it was his second offense.

Sam lifted a can of Coke. "This feels like the perfect time to toast. So, to you guys, who I am more than honoured to record with, and to sobriety. At least for one night."

Everybody raised cans or bottled water and toasted along with him. Naturally, it segued into a guitar riff and Rachel laughed. She lived for this. They sang their main group number and it was by no means perfect but they were together, most of them, and it was enough for that moment.

Rachel closed her eyes an hour after that, during Tina's turn to belt one out —or as much as Tina Cohen-Chang ever could. It could have been seen as the opposite but it was a compliment to her voice, the way its softness made Rachel _need_ to close her eyes. She was just going to rest them.

Rachel fell asleep, as most people did when they swore they didn't need to.

She woke up in a dream, outside of Quinn's apartment like she'd been sleeping on her feet. The door was wide open and it looked like an endless black waiting for her inside. A flashlight was clutched in her hand and she clicked it on, shining it inside the apartment as she stepped inside. It was like shining light onto tar.

Rachel dropped the flashlight but didn't hear it connect to the floor. It went away. She wouldn't be using it again.

She was blind and walked with caution, not wanting to disturb anything.

Rachel moved forward with her arms outstretched, trying to feel her way around. She knew the general direction of the living area and moved where she assumed it to be, using the tips of her fingers to see the things she was walking by. It was the armchair, and after taking two steps to the side to avoid the coffee table, her outstretched hand could feel the hard edge of a media unit that sat against the wall in Quinn's living area. Her stomach lurched as the floor dropped from beneath her feet but prior to any mind-numbing fear, dream-logic had her land somewhere on the same level, around the corner where her hand was gripped around a door knob.

"Quinn?" she called out. "It's Rachel."

She pushed the door open and announced herself again, just in case.

The bright light inside was harsh to her eyes. It felt like she'd been trying to find Quinn for so long that she'd gotten used to the darkness. It took her a few moments to adjust.

Rachel remembered this part. She told herself to wake up.

She walked into Quinn's bedroom and instead of her being slumped in bed, out of it but relatively soft and harmless given her state and also what had happened when Rachel revealed that her stash was on its way to goldfish heaven, Quinn was dressed and on her feet.

She stumbled across the room with the help of the wall, vomiting so violently that she collapsed to her hands and knees. Rachel rushed towards her in vain hopes of getting closer but she didn't succeed, all she was able to do was listen to the wet sound at the back of Quinn's throat before each bout of vomit poured out from between her lips. It wouldn't stop and Quinn's choked gasp eventually signalled that she couldn't breathe.

Rachel heard her scream from all around. It echoed around each corner of the room, crashing off the walls and her mind like an endless melody of insanity-driven hysteria. She felt the fresh wetness to her cheeks and closed her eyes in hopes of it ceasing. Rachel inhaled and held the breath inside longer than required, steeling all of the muscles she could. It sounded like Quinn was both behind her and across the room.

When the scream quietened down to nothing, Rachel had to look again. Quinn hadn't moved. She was still exactly where she'd been the last time, her fingers gripping the carpet as she looked up from beneath unkempt hair. Quinn grinned, and soon it turned into laughter.

Rachel could feel her heart racing like the wild throbs would succeed in its mission of breaking through her ribs and running out of the door the way she should. It was the direction she _should_ have turned but she stood rooted to the spot and her eyes dismissed her demands like every time she'd be stuck in traffic on the highway due to an accident; when a lane eventually reopened and they'd drive by, she would gawp and stare at the scene with morbid fascination.

There had only ever been one time she'd caught a glimpse. It had hurt, sickened her for a full five minutes at most, but then she'd always known it would. It was just the inability to tear her eyes away that was the problem. She couldn't look away from Quinn laughing at her manically on the floor and knew that the particular repugnance she was experiencing would make for a much more lasting impression than several minutes.

Rachel blinked and Quinn was gone, along with any evidence of the past few minutes happening save for the dizzying fear and disgust. Her eyes darted around in confusion until she felt a brush of cool fingers against the back of her neck and spun around to be met with nothing but her own reflection in the mirror across the room. The suspense was not agreeable. It made her feel like she'd dipped her legs into concrete.

As quickly as it had happened before, Rachel was no longer alone.

Quinn stood by the bed, wearing one of those baby doll dresses she'd once been so fond of, looking every bit like the girl from sophomore year.

Quinn had terrible things happen to her back then but she still managed to have a magnetic innocence and vulnerability about her that Rachel had and always would be drawn to, and so when the time came to coming face to face with her again, she lost the ability to think. For a moment too long, Rachel didn't consider rushing toward Quinn. She just stared. Lost.

Rachel saw Quinn: the colour to her cheeks, her relaxed posture, the careful smile reflecting her amusement at Rachel's open shock. It was perfect.

But Rachel stood still for too long.

She knew that because as soon as her eyes drifted more meticulously up and down Quinn's fuller, healthier body, it began to change. The fading colour to her skin, her damaging weight loss, the consternation of her brow, all of it catalysed Rachel towards her own terror, stuck between the unknown and remembering perfectly how the next part went.

There was a needle sticking out of Quinn's arm. Her name was gasped out of Rachel's mouth and she rushed forward to help, immeasurably frustrated with the way Quinn remained at arm's length.

Quinn twisted into something more horrifying than her usual tiny frame; decaying skin covering at best a grossly emaciated body, her hair hanging in dry strings. Rachel closed her eyes when she saw the grin.

"Hey, Rachel?"

It was that voice; so perfectly smooth when it said her name. Her chest caught. "What?"

Quinn ran at her.

Rachel's small fists clenched by her side as she prepared for a collision but it never came. When the time came for her to release a breath, she heard Quinn's voice come from behind, spoken into her ear.

"Boo."

X

She awoke with a modest jerk, not even disrupting her friends as her body rioted inside.

After she'd stopped outside to pay Dante for his watch over Quinn the past couple of days, and also in advance for the rest of the week, Rachel found her sitting on the floor outside of the apartment.

She thought Quinn looked different in her uniform. More human. But Quinn glared all the same, unimpressed with the overnight bag on Rachel's arm and being made to wait outside of her own apartment for ten minutes.

"You're late," Quinn stated.

"Traffic. How was work?"

"Another day in paradise."

Rachel put the key in the door and twisted, pushing against it at the same time. It didn't move. She tried again and the outcome remained the same. Was she in the mood for that shit? Absolutely not. She looked to Quinn for assistance, who sighed like it was a giant inconvenience but moved to stand beside her and turned around so that her foot was driven backwards into the door.

"Push," Quinn ordered when Rachel was looking at her instead of trying to get inside the apartment.

Rachel did, turning her head back to use her shoulder and weight. When it failed to work, she worried for Quinn's ankle. Did she want to break it?

"You're going to—" The door swung open, throwing her forward.

It was dark inside and she stayed still until Quinn flicked the light on, strolling right past her and going directly to her bedroom while Rachel locked the front door.

Rachel didn't feel safe in that part of the city and leaving the door unlocked was practically an invitation for trouble. She set her overnight bag and purse down on the kitchen table and pushed the keys into her back pocket. There were takeout menus in the drawers and she took them to the living room, spreading them out on a spare seat of the couch. It wasn't like she felt like eating so late but she had to be an example to Quinn and skipping meals was hardly responsible.

"We're ordering in," Rachel said, eyes scanning over food options. She put each menu back as neatly as she'd first arranged it.

They were ordering in but judging from the food listed on the menus, it would be from two separate restaurants. There was no way she was going to sink her teeth into a slice of Famiglia pizza, however famous it may be or delicious it looked. She had several restaurants she would rather call; hoping one would deliver in that area.

She'd even decided on her back-up dish if the one she wanted wasn't available. Then she realised that Quinn was ignoring her. She walked over to the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Rachel's tone was accusing as she pressed her ear up against the door. "Do I need to come in?"

"Why, do you want to watch?"

It wasn't a serious question and Quinn was horrified that Rachel took it as such, bursting into her room like she was going to catch her shooting up, somehow. All Rachel bore witness to was Quinn's almost bare back as she stood facing away from her, now standing in jeans and a bra as she searched for a top in her closet. Rachel knew it shouldn't have mattered to her, but she was infinitely grateful that the tacky tattoo at the small of Quinn's back had been lasered off since high school.

"What is it with you taking everything as a personal invite?" Quinn asked.

An apology was out of the question, even if it was owed. Rachel looked to the bed instead. It felt strange to be in there after the nightmare. It was creepy to be back in every familiar set for a nightmare, but this was a little too fresh. She wouldn't be staying long. "We're ordering in. I wanted you to know."

"And that life-changing statement couldn't wait until I was dressed?" Quinn asked, finding a t-shirt she wanted to wear. "I ate at work."

"I tried to tell you. I figured you were either ignoring me or you were partially deaf. Who knows what senses you've compromised with that habit?"

"Unfortunately for us, Rachel, I can hear just fine."

Rachel saw Quinn turn around from the corner of her eye and decided that it was okay to look at her now. "I didn't see you eat, so you might as well pick something from a menu unless you want me to order for you."

"You can pay. I don't get paid until next week." If a cup of coffee had been too much to ask for, then surely a meal would be out of the question.

"What about your tips?"

"I don't get many," Quinn said. "I'm always told that if only I smiled more..."

It was patronising to hear, especially from older men who told her that she could collect her tip in the backseat of their cars if she smiled. There had been more than several occasions where Quinn had smiled sweetly, returning shortly after to refill their coffee. She would be polite and engage in whatever asinine conversation happened to be taking place, setting a plate of ex-lax brownies down before she walked away.

She always hoped them to have to shit their brains out when they were miles away from the nearest toilet.

"They're not wrong," Rachel said. "I would expect a smile if you were serving me."

"You and your expectations. They're going to leave you severely disappointed, you know."

Rachel elected to ignore her. She turned to exit. "Choose whatever you want to eat. You can pay me back next week."

Quinn didn't speak to Rachel during dinner. There was music playing in the background and she wondered why she didn't like the fact that Rachel had gone through her music collection closely enough to find a record she wanted to play. It wasn't like the rest of her life hadn't gone to shit since Rachel had arrived. Why not taint her music collection too?

She didn't like the way she was looked at every few minutes, so each time she would give Rachel less reason to. Part of her impatience boiled down to being overfed. She hadn't been lying when she'd said that she'd eaten dinner at work. Another bite and she would burst for certain. Quinn pushed her plate away and slowly leaned back in her seat. No sudden movements.

Rachel's eyes wandered up from her own plate. She looked expectant.

Quinn cut her off pre-emptively. "Don't start, I'm full."

There were plenty of good reasons to, but for some reason Rachel didn't. It was a large portion and every year she had to take a break during her Thanksgiving dinner to let some of it go down before trying again, so she understood. Quinn could finish it another time. "How do you feel?" she asked, purposefully not sounding particularly concerned. She didn't want Quinn to think she'd gone soft on her. "You look bad."

"Yeah, because you fed me so much that it feels like I could re-enact the scene from Alien."

"I don't mean because of that."

"I don't want to talk," Quinn said.

Rachel wasn't much hungry for the rest of her dinner either. She'd eaten most of it. She cleared their plates away and scraped Quinn's into a container for her to heat up tomorrow. The fridge was mostly bare except for packaged fruit, vegan yoghurt, condiments, one beer, and some deli meat. Rachel grabbed the beer and Quinn hadn't moved by the time she'd sat back down.

"How does it make you feel?" she asked, the beer hissing as the cap twisted off. "The withdrawal." Quinn's head was resting against the wall, eyes looking away. She looked tired. "You look different. It's affecting your sleep, right? It has to be. I mean, not that you've looked well-rested since I saw you again, but you look tired. I suppose that could be from work. I've never worked as a waitress but I can understand how tiring it must be to be on your feet at least eight hours a day. It could also be from making the change. I get that the past few days have been a lot, you've just gotta grit your teeth and it will pass. But until then, maybe you should call your boss and tell him that you need a few days off. I mean, I don't think it's a terrible idea. You shouldn't even be working. Tell him you have the flu." Rachel followed that with a sip of beer. It was never her first drink of choice but she'd make do.

Quinn's eyes followed the bottle back to the table and wrapped her fingers around it, pulling it out of Rachel's willing hand. "You understand a lot of things, but not that I don't want to talk."

"I don't care, we're talking. Tell me how you feel. Do you have any pain?"

"Yes. It's sitting right here."

"I'm not talking about your stomach."

"Me either," Quinn said, drinking several mouthfuls of the beer she would live to regret. "You're really annoying. If you're going to be here, shut up." She pushed the bottle over knowing it was safe to do so. "Maybe this will keep your mouth busy."

Rachel pushed it to the middle of the table. "Do you really think alcohol is going to make me quieter?"

"I don't know, we all have that one hope."

"Have you ever overdosed?" she asked bluntly. "When was the first time you took something? Who gave it to you? Were you forced or did you take it willingly? How often do you get in the state you were in the other day? These are the things we should be talking about. These are the things I want you to talk about."

"Do you think I will?"

"No," Rachel said. "I think you'd rather be subjected to torture than have an honest conversation with me. But I still want you to. I want you to know that you can."

"Okay."

"Are you going to?"

"No," Quinn said.

The dismissal was as frustrating as much as it was hurtful and Rachel suddenly didn't care for Quinn's comfort. Maybe if she pushed more they would actually get somewhere. "Do your parents know?" she continued.

Quinn got to her feet, going into the living area to take the record off and replace it with one she'd rather listen to. It was Pink Floyd. Rachel couldn't stand the song playing. She spun to face Quinn in her chair.

"If I called your Mom and told her, would it be a shock?" she asked. "Have you ever tried to stop before? What made you start using in the first place?" Quinn increased the volume and Rachel went over to her, talking over the music. "How did you end up like this?"

Quinn sat back on the couch and lit a cigarette. She watched the record bounce and was unsuspecting enough that Rachel pulled the cigarette out from between her fingers and dropped it out of the window. In her absence Quinn lit another, pulling on it long enough to feel a tightness to her chest as she inhaled.

"Do you ever just...stop?" Quinn wondered. "Relax? If you know how, please do it now."

"Sure," Rachel said, sitting down beside her heavily after significantly decreasing the volume. "Let's _chill_ , Quinn. Why don't you roll us a joint? Oh that's right, you can't. I threw everything out. I will relax when I feel like it, and right now, you know, I'm just not feeling it."

Quinn blew out another stream of smoke. "Shame."

Rachel's reflexes had always been fast. Her Dad had always commended her on that when he taught her how to drive and they'd avoided the children on the crosswalk. She plucked Quinn's cigarette out of her mouth this time. "Yes, it is." Her back was the target of a dirty look as she went back to the window.

Quinn sparked up again.

A minute later when she was relishing in the quiet, she felt Rachel's hand move and was able to block her. She tapped the ash into the tray on the arm. "You're pissing me off," Quinn said.

"And how do you think you're making me feel?"

"Rather not know." She would rather just sit in the quiet and ignore how uncomfortable she felt.

"You're making me feel _sick_ ," Rachel said. "Your attitude, your behaviour ... Part of me doesn't even want to talk about your actions." She said that, but really she meant the opposite.

"Something we agree on."

Rachel wanted to try for that cigarette again but the angle was wrong. Quinn would just block her again. "Why do you have them?"

Quinn had them because they'd been in her jacket pocket hanging in the closet, somewhere that had been left untouched. She didn't smoke much, just when she felt like it. "This is the safest thing I do, Rachel."

"Where did you get the lighter from?"

"You don't just have one. It's like a collection."

"Why?"

Quinn looked at her. "Why? I don't know. They go missing. You lose one, so you get another but then you find the lost one. You borrow one and forget to give it back. It's like that."

Rachel nodded. "Oh. Can I see it?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"Pretty stupid."

The skin between Quinn's eyes pinched together. She swallowed and ran her tongue over her lips, delaying the next drag of her cigarette. Rachel got her wish shortly after when it was crushed in the tray and Quinn got up, hopefully to change the music.

"Thank you," she said, wondering if there was any Febreeze under the sink. She couldn't remember if she'd seen any when rooting under there for drugs.

But Quinn hadn't stopped smoking for her benefit; she'd done it for her own.

She closed the bathroom door quietly and closed her eyes, judging if she really needed to be in there yet. But the familiar tug at the back of her throat made Quinn curse inwardly. She kneeled down carefully, pulling her hair back. It happened quickly, and she didn't hear Rachel come in.

Rachel knew it was the withdrawal.

Quinn was sick because of her own actions, yes, but Rachel knew that part of it was because she was making her go through this. She looked regretful and hesitated when her hand neared Quinn's back. It would be unwelcomed but Rachel felt it necessary and rubbed firmly.

She'd done this for her once before.

It was during Glee rehearsal when Rachel had just finished telling Mr. Schuester all of the reasons why she should have the lead on a song she couldn't even remember anymore. She'd walked into the girls' bathroom and saw Quinn vomiting into a toilet, in so much of a rush that she hadn't even closed the stall door.

Rachel had gone in behind her, locking the door in case another Cheerio was to walk in on them. She rubbed up and down Quinn's back, not saying much of anything but was there. It must have been a bad day for morning sickness because she remembered sitting with Quinn for a long time. Each time Quinn would stop and they'd think about moving, a fresh wave of nausea would hit and she'd lean over the toilet again, just in case.

"I have some gum in my locker," Rachel had said when it was finally over. Quinn's response of having a toothbrush in her bag now had been soft, quiet. It was unspoken that she couldn't stay there with her, so Rachel didn't stick around.

When they were both back in rehearsal Quinn had been surprised to see Rachel holding out a lollipop for her but accepted it without question. Anything was worth trying once. She'd smiled a little guardedly and Rachel had returned it with wide, hopeful eyes.

This Quinn, however, wasn't so accepting of help.

As soon as there was a second-long break in heaving, she moved her shoulder and shrugged Rachel's hand off. It didn't return and she was thankful that at least one of her wishes had been honoured. When she was certain that she was finished she grabbed some tissue to wipe her mouth and pushed the lid down, flushing the toilet. The bottom edge of the radiator was sharp against her shoulder when she leaned back but she couldn't feel it.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" The back of Quinn's throat stung slightly to speak or swallow and she'd done one of those unnecessarily. Rachel had gone.

Quinn lay slumped on the floor alone.

Rachel busied herself in the kitchen, washing up what they'd used to eat dinner. She didn't want to be. Her eyes frequently wandered to see if Quinn had left the bathroom yet but there was no sign. She wouldn't ask if everything was okay. Compared to the nightmare she'd had, Quinn's sickness was much less severe. Rachel had attempted to comfort her, now it felt like time to take a step back.

She saw her phone flashing inside her bag and dried off her hands. It was a message from Santana but reflected the views of the group. They still wanted to see Quinn, and they wanted it to be tomorrow. Rachel categorically refused. It would be too much when she was still fragile from the withdrawal. There was pushing Quinn, and then there was shoving her. All that would happen would be a fall.

Rachel would push. She would push and poke and prod. Quinn was already getting better.

By the time Quinn had brushed her teeth and left the bathroom, Rachel had sprayed the couch with copious amounts of Febreeze (enough to have made it damp for several minutes) and gotten changed into her bed attire. Quinn thought the cutting look she was given as soon as Rachel saw her face was dramatic and walked past her on the couch to get a drink for bed.

She was sipping the water when she noticed Rachel's purse sitting open on the counter.

Quinn was rummaging through it when Rachel found her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Going through your purse. I'm not after your money, Rachel, or your phone. All I want is my key."

"It's not in there, so go ahead."

Quinn exhaled noisily and put the bag back. She turned. "Where is it?"

"Somewhere you would never think about looking."

That wasn't true; she just wasn't desperate enough yet. But her mother had taught her to always be prepared, so Quinn's mind ticked over as she looked at Rachel standing there in pyjama pants and a tank top. It was _Rachel_ , so that meant that her key was probably in a place so obvious that it should have slapped her in the face. Quinn wondered whether to check her own key set. She hadn't bothered to check them since her apartment key had been removed. There'd been no point. Then she noticed the edge of Rachel's bra strap sticking out slightly, just past the edge of her top. It was all Quinn could do not to outwardly sneer.

"Do you always sleep in your bra, Rachel?"

"My undergarments are hardly your business. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's been a long day and I'd like to turn in."

Quinn was really going to kill her one of these days. "It is my business if my key is padding out your bra."

"I'm not going to tell you, and I sincerely doubt that you would ever stoop as low as looking for yourself, so I guess this is goodnight."

She watched Rachel walk away from her and get under the blanket she usually kept over the back of the couch. It was sheer luck that spared Rachel from any indication of her displeasure. Quinn got to her bedroom, getting as far as putting the glass of water on the stand next to the bed when Rachel walked in, announced by only a brief knock.

"I'm going to sleep," Quinn said.

"Me too."

"Not in here you're not."

"On the couch, obviously," Rachel rolled her eyes. "I just forgot to say that if you have errands to do tomorrow, we have to go early because I have an interview at eleven. Before you get excited, it's done over the phone. I just get too distracted in public and I'm afraid that I'll start talking about things I'm not supposed to be talking about again."

"Like a drug addict you're holding hostage?"

"Recovering," Rachel corrected. "And maybe. It all depends on how much she pisses me off."

Quinn got into bed, getting comfortable. "I always aim high, Rachel."

"Will you do the album with me?"

The question came out of the blue but there was only a brief delay until Quinn shrugged. "Will I get my key back if I do?"

"No."

"Then you have your answer."

Rachel didn't seem fazed. "Fine. See you at seven-thirty."

When she was back on the couch, she lay down and pulled the blanket over her body, shifting to get comfortable. It took a little longer than usual. Quinn's furniture was pleasantly comfortable but having a rough edge of a key pushing into one her breasts just wasn't soothing.

Quinn lay awake in bed long enough to be certain that she'd remain alone, at least until early the next morning, and pulled her hand out from inside her pillowcase. She opened a packet and glanced over at the door again, drawing her leg up a second later where it was bent at the knee and turned sideways, resting on her left thigh. She pushed her thumb and fingers over her foot to make a vein stand out more visibly and then the alcohol wipe was rubbed over her skin meticulously before she reached back into the pillowcase and uncapped a syringe, carefully breaking the skin as she emptied it into her bloodstream.

It felt like hell.


	4. Corner Piece

 

 

Quinn couldn't remember the last time she'd walked through a grocery store. It must have been a while because while she could tolerate the sight of food in small convenience stores, the thought of a building this large containing just as much food made her stomach turn unpleasantly. Their relationship had always been on and off again, but Quinn felt mature enough now to conclude that she was simply neutral to it. She didn't love food, she didn't hate it. It was just there. She ate when she felt hungry and it was enough to sustain her body even if it failed to in Rachel's eyes.

She'd fallen asleep so late that when the devil —cleverly disguised as a five-foot-two woman with brown hair and such a crippling impatience to be noticed that her words had a habit of making Quinn dizzy— asked if she'd fallen asleep late, she didn't lie when she said no. She had fallen asleep very early in the morning.

Now she was somehow on her feet and walking down aisle seven with Rachel, making sure to keep to the side of her at all times. Quinn had been witness to the three heels Rachel's cart had slammed into (and the profuse apologies afterward) and was not going to be a victim. She wasn't going to fall for any of it, especially the bullshit, and she didn't care if Rachel had a problem with the way she looked.

Rachel was reading the ingredients list of yet another can of something, utterly oblivious to an impatient exhale next to her.

Their cart was angled to the side, blocking part of the aisle so that when a middle-aged woman came to switch lanes to avoid an oncoming cart, she had nowhere to go. Her blue eyes narrowed as she scowled, staring at the ignorant piece of trash who was violating some sort of market code.

"Excuse me," the woman bit out rudely, using the end of her cart to push Rachel's out of the way. Rachel didn't hear her. "Ignorant bitch, just like the good magazines say."

Quinn's hearing was still excellent. She watched the woman disappear around the corner. "Are you done?" she asked Rachel. "Can you eat it?"

Rachel put the can back on the shelf. "Yes. I can eat any animal product, Quinn. I simply choose not to. I find it helps me get through an entire meal without crying."

"By all means, give me the vegan lecture every time I ask a simple question."

"Is it annoying?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Annoying like the way that lady was smiling at you at the deli counter, asking which animal's flesh you'd prefer to eat for lunch?"

Quinn didn't respond. She'd only put several items in the cart so far, and one of them was from the deli. Rachel had refused to trust her to walk there alone and so she'd stood at the counter beside Quinn, looking like she was standing at a loved one's graveside.

"Sorry," Rachel said. "And I know most people in this store don't care. They probably found her friendly attitude lovely. But people take things personally, don't they? And personally, I think all deli counters are gross. When someone smiles as they're selling meat, it offends me. I can't help it. But I can sit and eat dinner with people who eat meat —I don't sit there and give them a lecture on a lifestyle choice that everybody is free to make, so... please, start picking out things you like to eat, okay? You can't live off cereal or sandwiches and I don't know what you want."

"Have you asked me?"

"No, I have not," she admitted with a small smile. "What's your favourite food, Quinn?"

"Why, are you thinking of setting fire to my kitchen tonight?"

"Humour me for one point five seconds."

"I've been humouring you for days," Quinn said.

"Tell me."

"I'll tell you on one condition."

Rachel saw it a mile away and carried on down the next aisle as she picked up cans of tomatoes and remembered that she'd forgotten to pick up fresh ones from the produce section. They'd have to go back. "I guess I'll have to figure it out for myself."

"I want my key," Quinn stated, letting Rachel pass her cans to put in the cart.

"I know you do."

"I want it, you have it; I see a solution somewhere in there, don't you?"

"I see it."

"Then what's the problem? Am I doing something to make you not trust me?"

"On the contrary. I'm seeing a big change in you the past few days," Rachel said as they slowly moved forward. "But I'm still not giving you the key until I believe you're in the right state of mind to handle that amount of responsibility." Rachel knew how frustrating Quinn would find that and she considered relenting a little until she looked at her face and, for a moment, saw Quinn as the terrifying vision from her nightmare. She had to look away.

"I think I can handle it."

"I don't. Not yet. And I know you can't stand it; my butting in like this, and maybe being around like this is not the perfect thing to do, but neither is what you'll do as soon as I leave, if I were to go right now. It's not a perfect situation, Quinn. There are no perfect moves here. You're going to have to deal with me the same way I have to deal with you. It's only been a few days, you're not strong enough to be alone yet."

"I should start charging you rent," Quinn said testily. "Every day you stay, I want a thousand bucks. You're down four so far."

"That's pretty steep considering I don't get a bed."

No, she was just replacing a non-descript scent usually found on Quinn's couch and blanket with her own. The demand was anything but steep. "You should be so lucky. And every time you say something annoying, I get to add on an extra grand."

"I'm guessing you'll be a rich woman by the end of the week," Rachel said.

"I'll make Forbes."

"You really find me that annoying?"

"I do," Quinn replied.

"Are you going to be an adult and tell me why? If it's anything other than my efforts to help you, you can tell me. You're making an effort to be a better person, I should do the same."

"I would, but I don't want to cut into your interview time."

Rachel had forgotten all about that. An outing to a new grocery store always turned out to be more than an hour's affair, especially when the person she was with refused to put anything in the cart to have for the rest of the week. They'd have to hurry through the rest of the store. "Oh, I almost forgot!" she said, speeding up to send the wheels dangerously close to unsuspecting ankles as she manoeuvred the cart down the aisle as quickly as possible.

Quinn had chosen pasta from the take-out menu so Rachel made sure to pick up several kinds to go with a chicken fillet that had been hidden considerately underneath a magazine Quinn had thrown in there. Antonio would have to cook it for her but at least Quinn would be getting protein.

Rachel's phone rang and her stomach plummeted at her uncharacteristic and unprofessional lack of time-keeping.

"It's not even nine-thirty," Quinn said calmly at the look on Rachel's face. "You said they were calling at eleven. If it's them, refuse to take it. Tell them you have a life."

Rachel's face relaxed as she pulled her phone out of her purse. "That's going to look good. You won't know this because of your refusal to read a newspaper or get an internet connection in your apartment, but I put even one toe out of place and I'm done for months. Every article describes me as a diva. Please." Her eyes rolled. "Like people know the meaning of one these days."

"Let me take it."

"With your passion of dropping or throwing my phone?"

"I won't throw it, I just want to answer it."

"So you can trash my reputation?"

"If I wanted to trash your reputation, Rachel, we'd be walking around a very public grocery store together." Quinn mustered enough emotion to gasp. "Oh."

"That's funny, because I recall you having concerns about our outing." Rachel checked her phone. "It's just Kurt." It was silenced and put away. "We still need to hurry this up if you want to go to the dry cleaners to drop off your work uniform."

"The laundromat is fine. It doesn't take that long." Quinn peered at the side of Rachel's face as they turned the corner. "Are you homeless? Is that why you're freakishly clingy? I'd get it." She remembered moving in with Mercedes for those couple of months in sophomore year of high school. The first night there had been horrible. She felt uncomfortable intruding so much on a family she barely knew and followed Mercedes around the house like a puppy until it was time for bed and she went to her new bedroom. She cried herself to sleep.

Rachel looked halfway amused. "You remember the reason I wanted to contact you in the first place, right? I'm not sure every homeless Joe is recording an album right now."

"You could be buried in loans."

"I'm happy to be debt free, thank you."

"So why don't you go home?"

Rachel was beginning to look distracted by food again but she made the effort to look at Quinn properly. "Do you want to go to my place? A change of scenery might actually be good for you."

"Willingly step foot in the devil's lair? I'm thinking no."

"And you're saying?"

Quinn arched a brow. "No."

Rachel groaned and turned away. "Your loss. My guest bedroom is spectacular."

"It can't compare to my couch."

"You haven't slept in my guest room. Sometimes even I sleep in there. It's very comfortable. If you ever get serious about wanting to get out of the dump of a building you live in, let me know. There's always one apartment available to rent upstairs from me. We could haggle the price down; I'm fantastic with that. I don't really know why nobody will stay there longer than six months but Alice —I'll tell you about her another time, she'll change your life— could help you out if there was a gruesome murder committed in one of the rooms."

Quinn watched Rachel pick up a jar of the same instant coffee in her cupboard and put it in the cart. "If you don't stop insinuating that I live in a shit hole, I'm going to cut off all of your hair while you sleep."

"I did no such thing. I stated a fact."

"Hope you like a crew cut, Rachel."

"I said your building was a dump, not your apartment. It's not exactly what I would call homey but I don't hate it. It almost has...charm. I don't know if I think like that just because it's yours, or what."

"Wanna trade?" Quinn asked idly.

"You know, if you did the album with me and actually let the world know how talented you are, you wouldn't need to ask me that. It could open so many doors for you. All the interviews and offers I'm sure you would get afterwards… You could move in upstairs, or I don't know, any of the other dozen of apartments I've mentioned to you."

"I don't want to live upstairs from you."

"And the other places? I can set up viewings. What can it hurt to look around some of them?"

Rachel's tone held too much expectancy, as if she believed a change of scenery was the cure to all of her problems. "Look, I realise your head orbits Planet Rachel but can you drop it? I don't want to look at apartments, but I do want you to stop talking. I know you can't do that, so I'm willing to compromise on you just dropping the subject."

Rachel looked at Quinn curiously. It had been a long time since she'd had to make heads or tails of why Quinn did the things she did. She was rusty. "If you don't want to discuss bettering your living arrangements, then why don't you tell me why you won't do the album with me?" she asked. "You say you don't care about the victims, which I actually do believe. You clearly haven't cared much about yourself for the past few years, so why would you care about other human beings yet? But it could open doors, not even to just music, and I just... I can't understand why you'd deny yourself the opportunity. Don't you want that? You don't have to… to settle anymore, Quinn."

"I just told you what I wanted. I prefer the simple things, Rachel. All it consists of is you shutting your face."

"No, I won't. You can't love your job, Quinn. Most people don't. There's a whole world out there, away from the stupid menial tasks you have to do eight or nine hours a day. You used to love performing. Did that change, because I can't understand why you're not biting my hand off? The door is literally being held open for you. You can change your life. You're already changing it, but make it radical and unbelievable. Forget starting the next chapter, start a new book."

"I have my reasons. Imagine that, right?"

Rachel stopped walking and left her cart sticking out of the aisle, turning away to again leave Quinn as the only witness to a familiar middle-aged woman whose blue eyes hardened at the back of Rachel's head as she avoided another collision.

"Whatever reasons you think you have, I feel like you're just avoiding."

"The only reason you're pushing this is because I said no. You don't know how to handle that."

Rachel moved forward. "I don't know how to handle watching you throw every bit of potential you have down the drain! And maybe I miss you. It's weird being back together with our friends and not having you there. It wasn't right at the start of senior year and it's not right now."

"Your friends, not mine."

"Quinn..."

"What?" Quinn looked around to see if anybody was in earshot. There was a man halfway up the aisle glancing down at them like a fight was about to break out, so she made an effort to lower her voice. "Do you think I'm going to be some sort of role model for those sad girls in Florida? Do I really look or act like one?"

"You're starting to," Rachel said sincerely.

"You're seeing what you want to see in me, Rachel. You always have. It's just going to get you hurt."

"I believe in you. I've always thought that underneath everything you were an amazing person, Quinn."

"I threw you against a wall four days ago."

"I know."

"No, listen to me, _I threw you against a wall_."

"I know! I remember," Rachel insisted upon seeing the vaguely shadowed expression on Quinn's face. It wasn't that she was afraid to say things to rile her up —quite the opposite. It was because she couldn't stand Quinn thinking of her as an idiot. She knew what had happened in the kitchen and she wasn't going to forget that morning any time soon but there was a time and a place for everything and so far it hadn't come up. There were more pressing issues to tend to, like counting the minutes that Quinn had been clean and pretending that the time she was spending in the studio was close to enough.

"And you still think there's something in me that's worth saving?"

"I do."

"You're an idiot," Quinn stated. It was the truth.

X

Rachel had been so caught up in her own head after that, trying to juggle meal ideas to suit both of them, keep an eye on Quinn who had, in her opinion, tried to storm off, and figure out a way to get her in the damn studio just once that she walked her cart right into some poor woman's heels. How unfortunate that her victim had also been wearing sandals.

The shrill accusation of her being a menace was accepted with a deep level of sympathy. Rachel could understand how much wearing any other type of shoe would cause the other woman a considerable amount of pain for at least the following few days, but to have a finger wagged in her face and _shrieked_ at that it had been intended, that she'd been deliberately trying to harm the other woman ever since aisle seven? Well, Rachel was no saint, and she'd had little to no patience, but a civilised person she was. After the offer to call for medical attention was rejected, another repeated and sincere apology was uttered and she continued on.

"You're a fucking bitch!" the woman yelled after her, red in the face with pain. "You know what else is a bitch, bitch? Karma! Good fucking luck!"

Rachel chose to ignore those not so pleasant parting words from her middle-aged, blue-eyed casualty and was more than happy to bark a verbal prompt towards Quinn when she wasn't instantly at her side during her own storm off. Quinn had caught up several seconds later and Rachel was so relieved that she had listened to her that she didn't question why Quinn's hand was free of chocolate when she'd found her wandering down the candy aisle with a bar in hand. But considering the reason why she was all but handcuffed to Quinn these days it wasn't important and she didn't think of it again until they had gone through the checkout.

They didn't speak to each other for the remainder of their shopping trip, not when Rachel saw Quinn whisper something to a nearby security guard or when they loaded their items onto the checkout belt to be rung up. Not even when Rachel added the same bar of chocolate to it that she'd seen Quinn with several minutes earlier.

They spotted Rachel's victim at the store's exit but before she could leave the premises she was stopped by a security guard. Along with everybody else close enough to gawp, Quinn and Rachel stopped to watch, on their way out of the store themselves. Rachel turned her nose up at the woman, practically levitating with the burst of superiority she'd felt. And when a chocolate bar was pulled out of her victim's bag, Rachel didn't know how her feet stayed on the ground.

X

They'd made it back to the apartment with enough time to spare for Rachel to eat a banana and half complete a crossword in the paper before the phone call came.

Quinn had watched a smile touch Rachel's mouth as she was acquainted with the interviewer and was all too happy to wipe it off when Rachel had attempted to go into her bedroom for privacy.

Such a luxury could not be afforded.

Rachel was relegated to the floor, placing a cushion between her back and the wall. She didn't like to sit on the sofa very often being as she slept there. It always made her feel restless. She could never sit around in her own bed at home, either. An exception could be made if she wasn't alone, or doing something other than reading or watching TV, but anything less and she would be anywhere but her bedroom.

Quinn picked up the newspaper and sat on the couch with her legs folded underneath her as she surveyed the crossword, looking at the questions that had been answered correctly. She filled time by sipping instant coffee and filling in the blank boxes until there were only a couple left. She'd always possessed the gift of selective hearing but, to her dismay, Rachel's voice was rarely quiet and every word came through loud and clear. The only time Quinn found herself truly curious was when Rachel was clearly asked about her feelings on Hurricane Fay and then if she had any upcoming projects.

Rachel went on to describe her devastation and sympathy towards the victims and then to talk about her project. "I do, but I can't say too much! Very soon. All being well, we'll have the announcement up in the next day or so." Rachel smiled. "See, I already said too much! Just...brace yourself, I'm warning you. I'm not tooting my own horn but I would gladly spend all day tooting my friends'. I'm working with some amazingly creative and talented people and I'm so excited to see how you guys are going to react."

Quinn wondered how her old friends had turned out, how they'd been spending their days to end up in a studio with each other. She wondered how together each of them was and if it had taken a very long time to get there. Did they wake up one day with a head full of new answers and self-discoveries, or were they still learning every day, trying to place bits and pieces of their lives together into some semblance of a shape that they were comfortable with?

She didn't imagine it took all that long for them. Most of them had been focused and happy during senior year of high school; they all had direction, even Finn.

"You are not asking me about my personal life." Rachel was smiling to interject some kindness into her voice but she didn't like to be harassed about her love life. "No, come on, I'm talking to you about a new project and you want to know if I'm dating anyone?"

Quinn always thought it would be easier to grow up and _be_ grown up if she was nowhere near her parents. Whichever way she thought about it, they'd taught her a lot of things about life and adulthood and which direction not to go in. The problem was there was more than one wrong direction. She never lay awake in high school and pictured her life turning out this way. Even during her darkest time, her imagination was never this cruel.

She looked at Rachel and nothing had changed with her in years. She still knew exactly what she wanted and getting there was as easy as retracing steps.

"No, I like that people are curious, I do. I'm flattered that people are interested enough to ask. It's just that I always find it difficult to react to these sorts of questions when I was always under the impression that my voice and my music is what I'm known for, not who I'm sleeping with." Rachel was looking down, tracing patterns into the carpet and then wiping her hand back over it, erasing the evidence. She was smiling only seconds after. "Apology accepted, and yes, I think it's best if we cut that part. Ask me something relevant; not personal, or how many rumoured physical altercations I had with paparazzi the week after my record came out. Start by asking me who's producing the new album, and we'll go from there."

"You attacked the paparazzi?" Quinn asked, giving away the fact that she'd been listening.

Rachel smiled and held up her finger. She remained on the phone for another ten minutes to make sure they had enough information to pick and choose from and the best cut of airtime as she answered the questions that were relevant to her career and current project. She told her fans to keep an eye out on her website and social media sites tomorrow for the official announcement but not to bother trying to suppress excitement until then; it was worth getting excited over. When asked if she was currently in the studio working on this big surprise project, she lied. Rachel's filter was non-existent a lot of the time but she didn't think it would be appreciated by anyone if she was to start talking about how little time she'd actually spent in the studio so far, and the reason why. She was thanked for her time and told what time later in the day the interview would be aired —five-fifteen p.m. It was a good time slot. Hopefully it would attract a lot of attention.

As soon as her phone call was finished, she looked up to see Quinn actually reading a newspaper. "You're reading that?" she asked tentatively.

"Just looking at the pictures," Quinn said, and folded the newspaper in half as she turned to face Rachel. "So, how did you end up beating a pap?"

"I'm not a menace," Rachel said with an underlying tone of exasperation. "I didn't beat him, I slapped him. It was hardly worth reporting; it barely stung my hand, but it was on the gossip websites within a few hours. No evidence, I'll have you know. No photos, just a rumour. It's why I still have all of those fans."

"But the rumours were true?"

"One was."

"Why'd you hit him?"

"His face got too close to my hand."

Quinn looked like she believed that as much as she believed in flying pigs. "Right."

Rachel was still sat on the floor. Her legs were pulled up so that her arms were crossed over and resting on her knees as she held her phone firmly in her hand. She deliberated her response for a second. "He mentioned my Dad."

Quinn knew which one. The summer she'd spent a large majority of her time at Rachel's taught her that Leroy was Dad and Hiram was Daddy. "So he was homophobic? Tell me you didn't lose your head over that. I'm not saying it doesn't suck, but you dealt with it well enough at school. You save public outbursts of violence for better things than that."

"It was homophobic, yes, but it was more than that. He was an ass. I didn't regret it then and I don't regret it now. Dante, he was my bodyguard during events at that time, took care of him before I could inflict any real damage, anyway. But I still had to pay out to avoid any serious fall out."

"For the big career?"

"My work was definitely a factor," Rachel replied a little vaguely.

Quinn waited for an elaboration but it never came. "But it wasn't the main one?"

The question brought forth emotions long since buried in the deepest part of Rachel's mind. It had been a long time since that day where she had lost control for all of the wrong reasons, and being forced to remember that time of her life while her present was so screwed up felt like the split-second panic experienced directly after being winded from a blow to the stomach. It caught her off guard. The last time Quinn had appeared so interested in her life had been the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school.

"I thought you didn't care what I had to say. Now you're interested?"

Quinn shrugged and held a hand up, flicking her wrist to the side. "What else is there to talk about?"

It was said with such candid flippancy that Rachel laughed, but it was a while before she responded with anything more than that. "I used to talk to my Dad about everything. Both of them. So I told them everything that happened, including how much I was _not_ sorry and would never in a million years apologise for the way that I acted, or respond in any other way should it happen again. They had a different opinion. I mean, they thanked me for defending them, of course. They weren't ungrateful. But they didn't think it was worth tarnishing the image I'd made for myself on the stage. It took a heated and highly emotional conversation for their words to really sink in. I got a little hysterical, looking back."

"So you paid that guy for your parents?"

"You know my Dads have always been the world to me," Rachel said. "They were my friends when nobody else wanted to be. They've always had my best interests at heart. And if they thought that I should do whatever I could to get the story, complete with a picture, not to print in the main press and avoid everything that came with negative media, that's what I would do. So, yeah, a million years passed in the space of twenty minutes."

Quinn was looking at her contemplatively. "Do you regret it?"

"The only thing I really regret is that I didn't hit that guy as hard as I could have."

"Maybe he'll stalk you during the peak of your new album promotion."

Rachel nodded. "So, ah, speaking of the album, do you want to come to the studio with me this afternoon?"

"No."

"Not even if I say please?" she asked hopefully.

"If it's the same question you're asking, my answer isn't going to change."

Rachel decided that she would drop the question in to every conversation until Quinn caved. Surely it was only a matter of time. All the same, being shot down after sharing something about herself stung as much as ever. She got up and walked over to the couch, sitting a seat away from Quinn. "It was bad. That day with the paparazzo, it was bad. I told you about a bad day because you asked and seemed interested. The least you could do is indulge my one request of the day."

"How did you wake me up this morning?" Quinn asked, almost conversationally. "Your exact words."

Rachel rolled her eyes but tried to remember, anyway. "Quinn, get up, we're going to the market."

"And then you left the room."

"So?"

"So, I didn't go back to sleep. I got up and walked around that stupid store with you while you read the packaging to every single item on the shelves, and made sure that we were back here in time for your interview. Seems to me like I've already indulged you for today."

"Food is essential to our survival."

"You should update Twitter with that gem."

In Rachel's favour, she didn't bat an eyelid. "I just meant that it was an important task. And you act like you had a choice, but we both know you didn't."

The dark circles under Quinn's eyes looked harsher when she was frowning. "I do what I want to do."

"So what you're really saying is that you wanted to get up early to go shopping with me? Quinn, that's so sweet."

"That's another grand."

Rachel smiled. "I'm annoying you now? It wasn't a couple of hours ago that you were planting evidence to stage an arrest on a woman who was rude to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. You put that candy bar in her purse when she wasn't looking," she said confidently.

Quinn didn't look particularly affected by that accusation. Her face remained impressively impassive, even with a self-satisfied smile being beamed her way. "Did you see me do it?"

"Well, no, but I know you did."

"Is that your sixth sense talking?"

"No, it's my gut."

"Your gut is full of shit," Quinn said.

"Or you are." Rachel's phone buzzed on the seat between them. Her smile only dimmed when she saw the e-mail with an attachment of a new song. It was from Artie; a new arrangement of his solo on one of the tracks. He wanted her opinion.

She didn't listen to it. She didn't even download it to listen to at another time. Decisions like this shouldn't be made over the phone. It was quarter-to-twelve and the studio was booked from two to six. Rachel chose a spot on the wall to stare at while she attempted to convince herself that if she tried —really tried— to persuade Quinn to join her for an afternoon and evening of fun, without specifying where exactly, that Quinn wouldn't leave the second they got there.

Every scenario sounded weak, even inside her own head.

Quinn was looking to the phone. "Who's that?"

"It's nothing."

"Is it Kurt? I saw you avoiding his call earlier."

"It's just Artie. He sent me a recording of his solo for this one song and wants to know my thoughts."

"Aren't you going to listen to it?"

"Not over the phone."

It took a mere second for Quinn's face to lighten with possibility. "Are you going home for your computer?" she asked.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"No, I would love that."

"I'm not leaving." Rachel shrugged. "I can listen to it tomorrow, it's fine. I'll be at the studio when you're at work, so."

"It's a long time till tomorrow. Are you sure you can wait?"

"I can wait."

"Yeah. It's Artie, right? His performances were always worth waiting for. Head and shoulders above the rest, if you think about it. He didn't need to do anything but sit there and sing and everyone would be blown away. No gimmicks." Quinn leaned forward and picked up the newspaper again, opening the crossword back up. "I doubt his voice has gotten anything but better after all these years."

"You're right about that," Rachel said. She was not going to bite and leave Quinn alone so that she could hear Artie's track, but in spite of her stubbornness she did feel the sharp claws of impatience on her insides. It was indeed a long time until tomorrow.

"And it's not like he doesn't have other friends he trusts enough for their opinion on his music," Quinn continued. "He can wait for you. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Shut up."

"I just said he's not going to mind."

"I know what you said," Rachel responded. "And I know what you're trying to get me to do, but it's not going to work. I'm not leaving you."

Quinn stared at one of the last remaining questions left unanswered on the crossword. "Fine, you stay here."

"I will."

"Outstaying your welcome."

"I _will_ ," Rachel said irritably.

"While your actual friends need you."

"You need me."

Quinn looked at Rachel and smiled; teeth and all. "No," she said slowly but surely. "I've never needed you, Rachel."

Rachel swallowed heavily. "Well, I disagree."

"You know the sad part of turning away? You miss everything that's right in front of you."

"I haven't missed anything. In case you've forgotten, we're in this predicament because I didn't miss those craters in your arms! What sarcastic retort do you have for that, huh? Come on, I'm waiting."

"You haven't missed anything?" Quinn challenged. "Anything at all?"

"That's right," Rachel said sharply. "I've known you a long time, Quinn, and I know part of you that hasn't recovered yet is finding that difficult to accept."

"Four days is a long time?" Quinn's humoured tone was replaced with a more serious inflection. "Although being stuck in here with you has felt like a lifetime."

"That's why you cut everyone out, isn't it?" Rachel asked, her eyes feeling clearer than they had in a long time. This was one of the answers she'd been waiting for. "You didn't want to be known by any of us anymore because you knew that if somebody knew who you were, they'd have to care. And you still can't stand that, can you? You can't deal with knowing that you're hurting people who care about you, and _that's_ why I'm still here."

"You've had a lot of therapy, haven't you?"

"I've had a lot of time to think," Rachel said. "You barely talk to me. This is probably the longest time we've sat and had what could pass as a conversation, as civil as it is not."

Quinn looked like she was having trouble finding the right words for Rachel to finally understand. "Things happen," she shrugged. "Life happens, shit happens. Sometimes you're too busy holding on for dear life to really map out intricate schemes to cut out people from your life. Sometimes it just happens."

Rachel nearly jumped up from her seat. "That is crap!"

"No, it's just what it is."

"You don't send everyone who ever cared about you into a state of—of blind panic and confusion and _hurt_ without meaning to. That's calculated and it's selfish, and it's a cry for help."

"Is Kurt still your best friend?" Quinn asked calmly.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Rachel demanded.

"It's a simple question."

"Yes, he is still my best friend."

"And you're close? You love him?"

"Of course."

Quinn watched Rachel glare and felt her lips curl in triumph. "So why are you avoiding his calls? Don't you think that's hurting him? That's selfish, Rachel." She looked back down to the crossword to focus her energies on answering seven-across.

Rachel ripped the newspaper out of her hand. "Don't think for a second that what applies to you applies to me. _Nothing_ about those situations is the same."

"Yes, it is," Quinn retorted fervently.

"No, I am angry with Kurt! I'm angry with a lot of people, actually. But Kurt is my best friend, he should have told me. He should have trusted me."

"With what?"

"With you! When it happened, when he knew that you'd done a disappearing act, he didn't tell me. None of them did." Rachel's face hardened against the oncoming rush of tears. "None of them thought I was important enough to know the truth. They thought that little of our relationship, Quinn, that they didn't say a word. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"Do they know about me?" Quinn asked quietly.

"That I found you? Of course they know. How could I ever hide—"

"No, do they know that I'm..."

"A recovering addict?" Rachel finished for her. "No, they don't know that."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Because I couldn't. Because either way I feel like I'm betraying friends and feel guilty," Rachel admitted. "I don't tell them anything and I'm betraying them. But if I tell them everything, I'm betraying you. Or at least, I feel like I'm betraying you. And they're okay. They'll be okay. I'm just not sure you would be, and I wasn't going to take that chance."

Quinn felt relief cool the fire that had broken out inside of her. She didn't want anyone from school knowing anything about her life. It was bad enough Rachel knew. She couldn't handle the lectures and tears from anybody else.

"So you didn't plan any of it; avoiding the calls, lying?"

"No, Quinn, I didn't plan on you ever turning into a drug addict just so that I'd have a reason to lie to our friends."

"Then I rest my case."

Rachel scowled. "What case?"

"When something terrible happens—"

"There is no case for you to rest, Quinn!"

Quinn raised her voice to be heard over Rachel's. "When something terrible happens, you deal with it the easiest, fastest way possible. Sometimes that means acting like a selfish bitch."

"Don't you dare call me selfish."

"Stop being so naive."

"If I'm hurting our friends, I don't mean to! I don't want to!" Rachel insisted, leaning forward as if her closer physical presence would convince Quinn of her sincerity. But she needn't have bothered wasting her energy because that was exactly what Quinn was waiting for her to say.

"Exactly. Everybody does things they thought they'd never do. They do things they said they'd never do. All that ever matters is in a single moment, and you don't think, you act. That's all you have time to do. It can either work for you or against you."

"That's not true," Rachel said sceptically. "You don't always have to be rash."

"No," Quinn conceded, "but most people are. We're all impatient."

"Is this you justifying your actions?"

"Just stating a fact, Rachel. You need to stop thinking of things as so black and white. Look at the bigger picture."

"I need to stop thinking of things as either right or wrong?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," Quinn said, hoping this conversation would actually stick. It would be one of the ones that mattered most. "Don't be a lost cause. I'm a selfish bitch but maybe I'm actually trying to save you some pain."

"Are you?" Rachel surveyed her closely for any outward signs of dishonesty but Quinn never gave away much if she didn't want to. Her gaze, however, did seem to be open for the time being.

"Find out. Step into that big grey area. You'd be surprised at how different everything looks from there."

"I'll try," Rachel agreed. "If you come to the studio with me, even just once, then I'll try."

"I told you I'm not going."

"Is it because everyone will be there? Because our friends are not mad at you." She relented at a suspicious scoff. "Okay, they're mad, but more than that, they miss you. They miss you, Quinn. All they want is to know you're okay and to prove how much they still care. Please don't deny them the chance for that. Don't deny yourself the chance to get to know them again."

Quinn was shaking her head over and over again. "No."

"Why not? You hate being alone with me. You said it yourself: I annoy you. If you come to the studio with me, you won't have to look at me or talk to me for hours. As long as you choose."

"I can do that here," Quinn contested, unintentionally proving her point by looking away from her.

"It's not the same."

"No, it isn't, because here I have to deal with you constantly pointing out how wrong I am, lecturing me, trying to control me, _judging_ me, and you think I'm going to walk straight into a room where eleven of _your_ friends will do the exact same? I don't think so. It's going to take a hell of a lot more than you asking me nicely to agree."

Rachel's hand came to rest on top of Quinn's. It was cool to the touch. "What? Is that what you think?" she asked as Quinn's slipped out almost immediately, pulled away from hers. She chanced a blow to the face by reaching up to her cheek, turning it to look at her properly. "Look at me," she said softly, only continuing when Quinn kept her eyes on hers long enough to make out the reluctance in them. "I don't judge you."

"Yes—"

"No, listen to me. I want you to know something. I want you to know that I accept this part of you. I do. I just don't accept that it has to define you for the rest of your life. You're more than this, Quinn. You can be so much more than this."

The earnestness being directed at her made Quinn feel uncomfortable. Her eyes darted away and she moved her head, breaking all contact. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew."

"Knew what? The things you've done in the past? I don't care about that. I'd like to know; I'd like you to feel comfortable enough not to hide that stuff from me, but I understand if it's too hard for you to talk about yet. I can wait."

In spite of Quinn's actions, it was always effortless for Rachel to believe in her. At first she thought it was somehow easier because, drug habit aside, at least Quinn never made the same mistake twice, and God knows Rachel appreciated not having to put up with an inordinate amount of stupidity, but it always went deeper than that. She could never understand why people called Quinn shallow when she could always see more to her. People called Quinn selfish for thinking about keeping Beth and they called her selfish after she gave her up for adoption. Rachel thought she was one of the strongest people she'd ever met.

She remembered the way Quinn used to sit with one hand over her stomach when she was feeling particularly upset or vulnerable at school, as if she was trying to shield her unborn child to the harshness of life. The first few nights where Quinn had shown up at her house that summer after giving birth, Rachel had watched Quinn sit holding her stomach for hours as they spoke about Beth. It was the fourth night where Quinn had said, suddenly, after being quiet listening to music for a long time, that she still couldn't believe that Beth was no longer with her. She'd been a part of her for eight months, two weeks, and five days, never apart, and now it was likely that she'd have to wait at least eighteen years to see her again. It was all too difficult and weird to think about but Quinn did little else for a long time.

Rachel was happy to help her in any way she could, so she'd acted the way she imagined a best friend —or at least a good friend— would act; she listened, offered her own view to Quinn's concerns and tried to interject humour where appropriate to make Quinn smile but it didn't work as often as she'd have liked. And when Rachel realised that no matter how much humour there was out there, it would never be enough to take the pain away, she'd sat there and held Quinn's empty hand.

Rachel had watched the grimace appear on Quinn's face as a thought formed in her mind, but it worsened as the question was voiced. Hers was an entirely different situation but when Rachel answered that she'd never hated Shelby, Quinn's relief had been so strong that tears had dripped from her face a mere thirty seconds afterward.

Believing in Quinn was about a lot of things, but a large part of it was about private moments between the two of them that nobody else knew of. They never spoke of those nights again directly, not unless they counted that time in the auditorium when Rachel mentioned the summer, but it would always be there.

There would always be a time where Quinn had needed and trusted Rachel above anyone else in her life.


	5. There's Someone In My Head But It's Not Me

By nothing short of a miracle, and for the first time in several nights, Rachel's sleep was free of nightmares. She didn't remember her dreams at all, and if the arrangement of the blanket and which position she'd woken up in were any indication she hadn't so much as turned over in the night. It felt good. Or, as good as it could feel when she had to sleep in her bra with a key tucked inside it.

She felt so well-rested that she actually had energy to burn.

It was only natural that after brushing her teeth and taming the tangle of hair on top of her head she decided on going for a morning jog. Why not? She was in a good mood, the sky was blue, and if she didn't get out of the apartment soon she was going to start climbing the walls. Win-win.

Rachel hadn't yet let Quinn sleep in until whenever she wanted, mainly because it would probably be midday before there was any sign of her, and sleeping the better part of the day away wouldn't accomplish anything for either of them. Quinn needed a routine and a purpose now, small things to keep her mind busy. Rachel knew it wasn't a permanent solution but they felt like acceptable baby steps when spending time together would only mean they grew closer.

She wasn't a monster; she let Quinn nap if she came home from work exhausted just before dinner time. Rachel would fill the time by cooking and opening the windows as wide as they would go to prevent the over-sensitive fire alarm setting off (she'd learned that lesson the hard way). She also wasn't an idiot; if she left Quinn alone while she was off on a morning run, the locks would be changed by the time she got back.

Rachel folded her blanket and adjusted the cushions on the couch so that it didn't look like someone had slept there all night and then made her way over to Quinn's bedroom door. She knocked loudly because Quinn was either the heaviest sleeper in the world or she'd been ignoring her the other mornings she'd tried to wake her up.

"Quinn, are you awake?" Rachel didn't expect a response, so she didn't wait too long for one. "I'm coming in," she warned a second before pushing the door open.

Apparently luck was on Quinn's side because she was fully clothed and wide awake.

Rachel smiled; pleased she hadn't had to disturb Quinn's sleep for once. It was a lovely surprise. She hoped the rest of the morning would be full of them. "Good morning."

Quinn was kneeled on the bed, stretching over to pull the sheet up. "You're up..." She glanced to her bedside clock. "Right on time."

"My internal body clock is nothing if not efficient," Rachel said. She wasn't told to get out of the room so she walked further inside. "What are you doing?"

"Changing the bed."

She helped Quinn to pull the sheet off the mattress. "No, I mean today. What do you have planned?"

"I have work later."

"Are you closing?"

"Not this week."

Rachel stepped backwards to give her room to move off the bed. She knew Quinn's schedule for the next couple of days but you had to warm her in to a conversation and she was happy to do so. "Oh. Because I thought we could go for a run."

Quinn reached for her bed covers and began to unbutton them. "I don't run."

"As a rule?"

"No, as in I don't see the point anymore unless I'm being chased."

Rachel nodded. She was in a good mood and she didn't want to approach this situation in a way that would have Quinn miserable or spiteful the entire morning, so she used caution. "Well, we don't have to run, we can jog. What do you say?"

"I'm not your master," Quinn said neutrally. "If you want to take yourself for a run, you don't have to ask my permission. It's a nice day."

"But I want you to come with me."

Quinn's face was being blocked by her bed covers as she held them up, trying to pull the duvet case all of the way off. "I can't, I'm doing this."

Rachel saw light at the end of the tunnel and zeroed on it. She picked up one of Quinn's pillows and pulled the case off, throwing it to the floor with the growing pile of laundry. "I can help."

"That's all right," Quinn said, dropping the stripped covers onto the mattress where they sat in an untidy pile. She looked up in time to see Rachel pulling off the case to her second pillow and jumped across the bed, her hands flying out to seize the pillow at once. Rachel raised hers in surrender and Quinn looked close to embarrassed. "I can change my own sheets," she said quietly, filling a strained silence.

"Okay," Rachel shook her head, bewildered. "So, will you come out with me? I have so much energy this morning. That mixed with cabin fever isn't going to be pretty for either of us, so I really think it's best if we get out of here." There was no verbal rejection so she took it as agreement a few moments later. "I'll get us water and something to eat," she said, leaving Quinn to finish changing the sheets.

Rachel was halfway across the room before Quinn turned to her. "I don't want to eat yet." It was the first time she had said that without an attitude, so she figured that was why Rachel stopped and offered her a small smile.

"I'm not cooking, it's just fruit."

Quinn nodded. "Okay."

X

Save for some stilted conversation on why Rachel even had work-out clothes and a small gym bag with her (by Quinn), and the abominable state of the sidewalks (by Rachel), it had been an uneventful thirty minutes. Rachel thought there were too many potholes to run properly and was therefore unacceptable to sprint down so they had to find a park that Quinn deemed suitable. It took longer than Rachel would have liked. She thought Quinn was just trying to stall, to keep her away from seeing any of her friends.

"I don't know anybody who does this," Quinn denied as they entered the park, sounding bored already as Rachel was bent over at the waist holding her ankles, stretching her legs to warm up. "It's just early."

"So? People exercise early in the morning," Rachel said, adjusting the sweatband on her head. "They walk the dog or they run; go the gym. Or they just have sex."

Quinn's only response was a slight lift of her eyebrows. People who were in the park late at night were also the type to still be there early in the morning. She looked around but all she could see was people walking their dogs and a man passing through with coffee in one hand and a phone in the other, an unopened newspaper tucked under his arm.

There was a bench a short distance away. She wondered if Rachel would let her wait there but decided against asking. She didn't like to give her an excuse to say no. Besides, it looked like Rachel had enough to contend with without considering giving her a tiny drop of independence; she stood there stoically, stretching her arms and legs like she was going for a cross-country run instead of a simple fifteen-minute sprint around the park.

"Ready, Quinn?"

"Sure."

Rachel took off like a starting pistol had been fired.

It took five seconds to notice that her companion was a mere four steps further than where they'd started.

"Quinn!"

"There's no way I'm running for you. I told you I wasn't going to."

"You said you would."

"No, I didn't say anything. You just said you wanted me to come with you."

Rachel's hands framed her hips as Quinn came closer. She waited until they were in front of each other to say, "I don't think you understand; I will implode if I don't run some of this off. Please run with me."

"So, go," Quinn said, gesturing her arm out in front.

"I can't run by myself."

"If Forrest can do it, so can you." She could tell that Rachel wasn't convinced. "I'll be behind you. God, run backwards if you don't think I'll stick around."

"It's not that," Rachel denied. It was absolutely about that. "I'll just... jog hard beside you."

Quinn shook her head, moving around Rachel to continue walking. "Whatever."

"So I was thinking, you don't get off work till late today so do you want to do something tomorrow?"

"Like what?" she asked, still sounding annoyed because she overstressed the last word.

"Anything. What do you do for fun?" Rachel was trying to jog but it wasn't working very well because Quinn was walking too slowly.

"Sleep."

"Do you like going to the movies?"

"With their prices? No."

"Do you still like to read?" The living room was full of books, Rachel just wanted Quinn to share a few things about herself.

"Why, are you planning on starting a two-person book club?"

"I'm planning on us having fun," Rachel said, punching her arms out, much to Quinn's dismay. But Rachel didn't care how stupid she looked; she had to burn off the energy somehow. "We could walk around; find a protest to join in? Someone is always protesting something."

"Is that something you do often?"

Rachel smiled. "No."

"You're sure about that?"

She laughed this time. "I swear." Rachel thought Quinn was quiet because she was trying to figure out something that both of them would enjoy tomorrow but what came out her mouth a little while later was decidedly different.

"When are you recording your songs?"

Rachel tried not to react but she knew her eyes had widened in surprise. "Soon. Yeah, because there are two solos and then I have group numbers. We're still rehearsing, recording demos to see what works and what doesn't. I think we're doing solos and duets first and group numbers last."

"Why haven't you been preparing outside of the studio?"

"I do. I do it when you're at work. The studio's not always booked the whole time you're at work so I go back to yours and I sing there. One of your neighbours told me to shut the eff up yesterday."

"Who?" Quinn asked.

"I don't know." Rachel would die happy if she never met any of Quinn's neighbours.

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"A man, but it wasn't Sid."

"Really deep voice?"

"So deep," Rachel laughed. "It scared the crap out of me."

Quinn pictured Rachel shutting up at once with a slightly terrified expression on her face. It was a show of will that she didn't laugh outwardly. "That's Baloo. Well, his name's Gerry but I call him Baloo. Just don't ever call it him to his face, he's really mean."

"Got it."

They drifted into a mutual silence and Rachel wondered if she should tell Quinn that she only had one solo on the album. Or, one she truly wanted to sing, anyway. The second song's arrangement was flexible for several people's voices and ideas to suit it. She was saving it for Quinn, when she finally gave in and agreed to sing with them. And as much as Rachel enjoyed the main single she couldn't help but think it would be ten times better if Quinn was singing with them. It wasn't just about her voice; it was about the atmosphere and energy as a group when they were all together. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before and she was desperate to recreate it now that they were reunited after so long.

They only had eight weeks to record the entire album. Seven of them were left and Rachel hadn't spent more than twelve hours in the studio. She thought it felt a little like leaving her baby with a sitter for the first time. She trusted her friends but it wasn't the same as being there to offer constructed, well-meaning criticism and for them to do the same for her.

At least today she'd have a full day in there as it was booked for seven of the same hours as Quinn's shift. She was eager to get there and get some work done.

She jogged beside Quinn for a while but it wasn't doing much to burn energy; she had a long sprint in her and it wasn't going away any time soon. "Do you feel like jogging yet?"

"No."

"Come on, Quinn, please? Let's get those endorphins rushing!"

"I don't jog."

"Then walk faster." Quinn's pace remained the same and Rachel had resorted to jogging so slowly that it was practically on the spot, punching her arms in the air every so often.

"I miss morning exercise. I usually go to the gym but, you know, lately I haven't had the opportunity and I've been busy..."

"Yeah, you've been real busy sitting around doing nothing with me."

"Well, do you want to start coming to the gym with me? I think you'd really enjoy the benefits," Rachel said, thrusting her right fist out so fast that the man walking beside her was in danger of a black eye if he wasn't careful.

"No," Quinn said, loving the way _she_ was given the dirty look by him when it was Rachel who had done the crime. She managed to multi-task with delivering her own daggered eyes right back at him, while coming to the conclusion that this —Rachel's unintentional way of causing people physical pain— was becoming a habit. It was a damn shame her arms didn't stretch out just a few centimetres further, then the near-miss would have been absolute contact and Quinn could have given him a scornful smirk instead.

"Are you sure? You should really think about it."

"Okay."

"For more than a second," Rachel smiled, knowing full well what that 'okay' meant. "So you have two choices," she said abruptly. "You can either pick up the pace or I'm going to have to run circles around you."

True to her word, Quinn didn't run or jog or do anything but walk with Rachel like she'd agreed to, but it wasn't half as annoying as she'd feared to have Rachel literally run large circles around her. In fact, she was counting down the seconds until Rachel got dizzy and fell flat on her face. It wouldn't be long; she was like Roadrunner.

Quinn had left her phone in her bedroom but wished it was there; it was Jackson's birthday tomorrow and she wanted to confirm some plans. It wouldn't be much, Rachel would see to that, but she had to do something. Jackson's birthday was a special day to her. She supposed they could meet at work. It would be good just to see him.

She needed somewhere safe to vent.

She should have never sold Rachel short, because it was only after Quinn had compiled a long list of things to get off her chest by the time Rachel began to slow down, breathing heavily.

Rachel's hands settled on top of her hips as she searched for a bench. Her surroundings swayed together at first but she found an unoccupied one not too far away. Getting over there certainly wasn't made in a straight line but the journey wasn't ever what mattered, was it? She collapsed down unceremoniously but showed enough signs of life to move over for Quinn to sit beside her.

When she regained her breath, she wanted to do it all over again.

"You should call Tony. That's what boyfriends are for, isn't it?"

"Antonio," Rachel corrected, taking the small gym bag that Quinn had been so nice to carry for her as she ran. She pulled out two bottles of water and a container of fruit. "And that wasn't very subtle."

"He's your boyfriend; you have pent up... energy after being away from home. It's only natural."

"If you want to know about my life, all you have to do is ask."

"I'm not asking," Quinn said. "And I thought you said I wasn't going to know anything about you until I started sharing too, which you conveniently forgot about the other day. You threw the paparazzi story on me with nothing in return."

"No, I got a lot out of our conversation," Rachel stated lightly, feeling her pulse begin to slow towards normal.

"Good for you."

"Yes, it was."

"So, are you going to see _Antonio_ when I'm at work today?" Quinn asked, accepting an apple slice when Rachel offered it. If she said no, they'd be stuck there arguing about it until it turned brown. Better to just take it.

Rachel smiled. "Thank you. And yeah, I think so." They were meeting at her place for lunch and she was going to apologise for being so absent lately. She was looking forward to it. It wasn't like they lived in each other's pockets but she liked to be in touch with the people in her life and barely talking to Tony for a week never sat well with her. Rachel commented idly on various people walking by the bench she and Quinn were sat on but didn't really say anything of importance until the container of fruit she'd been sharing with her was empty and she'd put it back in the bag, along with her water. She looked at Quinn closely. "You look different."

"I look better?"

Rachel imagined that it would take a little longer than a week for Quinn to begin looking better, but she didn't know, something simply looked different about Quinn. Perhaps it was being out in the fresh air and sunlight, doing something normal for once. That in itself was a big difference. "I don't know, you just look...different."

Quinn opened a bottle of water and took a sip for something to do. "Nothing's changed."

Rachel inclined her head and said, seriously, "Hey. Everything has changed."

"Right."

"No, I made a list and everything. Trust me, progress has been made."

"You made a list?" Quinn smirked. "Okay. Where is it?"

Rachel tapped a finger to her temple. "All in here. Now come on, last one back to your apartment is a loser!"

X

It was strange to be in her own home.

Rachel hadn't been away for long; she'd been on tours and travelled for months at a time before, but it felt like she hadn't been home in ages. It was strange to not smell scents she could smell at Quinn's. Besides the scented candles being lit every couple of days and the way the place smelled faintly of weed and stale smoke, several month's old paint which had absolutely been used on the wall behind the media unit in the living area, the household and hygienic products she used, the place simply smelled like Quinn and it was difficult to equate it to anything other than warm.

Rachel couldn't smell anything in her own living room besides a stuffy kind of air which was rectified by opening the doors to her balcony.

She repacked her bags, swapping dirty clothes for clean, and threw away some salad that had gone bad in the fridge in her absence. By the time she'd finished finding little things to occupy her mind, there was a knock at the door and she was as relieved to see Tony as she was the last time.

He'd brought lunch and they ate slowly at the small table between the kitchen and the living area, talking with mouth's full as they caught up.

"So, what's going on?" he asked.

"We're at the studio today. I'm going there when we're finished with lunch."

"No, I meant, what's going on with you? You still look like your knees are going to buckle from that weight on your shoulders."

Rachel chewed deliberately. "I'm fine."

"That friend you're staying with; is she why you look like this?"

"She's doing better," Rachel said quietly. "She's still sick, but she's getting better. And I'm fine. You know how I get when I'm working on a new project. You and Kurt are always making fun of me for it."

Antonio looked at her. This was nothing close to how Rachel usually looked when working on a project; there was never desperation to her eyes or the oppressiveness to her face like there was now. He covered one of her small hands. "Well, if there's anything I can do, let me know. That's all I meant."

"Thank you," she said, opening her hand for him to hold properly. "So, how's your grandpa? Does he still hate you for not joining the family business?"

"Still alive; and possibly worse than ever now that I didn't get the ad contract last week."

Rachel gasped. "You didn't? Tony, why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did."

"Well, they're crazy!" Rachel fumed. "You look lovely in nothing but your underwear. Add a splash of designer cologne and every American inclined to the male specimen would be foaming at the mouth."

Antonio laughed. "That's really nice of you, but it's okay. There are plenty of other semi-nude roles that need filling. And who knows, maybe one day I'll have a successful interview for serious movies or TV work."

"You're just having a dry spell. Things will pick up soon."

"Yeah."

"Are you okay for money?" Rachel asked bluntly, "because I know your apartment is a little pricey."

"I'm fine."

Rachel's eyes darted around for her purse. "You paid for lunch. Let me pay you back."

"Don't be rude, Rachel."

Rachel's shoulders slumped. "I just want you to be taken care of," she said worriedly. "Are you stressed about it, because I can put in a word for you with a casting director that I met—"

"I am stressed," Tony admitted. "But I love Ramen, so things could be worse. I'll figure it out." Rachel's hand was soft against his and he looked down to it as her fingers stroked over his skin. She was always fiercely protective over those she loved and he was never stupid enough to be anything but eternally grateful that she loved him the way he loved her.

When Tony leaned in to kiss her, Rachel kissed him back.

When he pulled back, he looked at her face searchingly. "Is that still okay?"

Rachel nodded. Several minutes later, when her top was on the floor of her bedroom, she realised how much she'd missed her bed and not having to think every decision through like it was going to make or break someone's life.

X

Texts instead of calls had been exchanged too often for it to be normal the past week, so Hiram picked up the phone and called his daughter until she answered.

Hiram had always worried about Rachel. Always would. Having her live across the country in one of the biggest cities in the world hardly eased any of his fears but he knew she was happiest there. He knew he didn't have to worry for her being lonely anymore.

But that certainty fractured into doubt when he heard her voice.

Rachel knew she was in trouble the third time he asked her what was wrong, and especially afterwards when she demanded for him and everyone else to stop asking her that because she was perfectly _fine_ thank you very much. She hated arguing and had cried purely out of frustration as soon as she'd hung up.

She hated lying to him. She hated lying to everyone and alienating herself in the process.

But Rachel put herself in that position every time.

The relief came when nobody asked how she was feeling, which, ironically, came most often when she was around Quinn. Quinn never bothered to ask her that and Rachel never had to lie to her in return. Relief came for the first few hours of her being at the studio.

They all had several run-throughs, some of which still needed work in some areas. It was all coming together nicely, though. They were all excited and, admittedly, a little cocky about the upcoming record when they looked around the room and saw who exactly it was that they were working with.

They were excited to see how Rachel would react if a music video was green lit. They knew she wasn't the bitch that the media sometimes made her out to be, but she was still Rachel Berry and she could turn _anything_ into a production. Some of them thought, not unkindly, that she'd probably try to take the director's job.

But Rachel hadn't given it a great deal of thought. Her mind was too full of other things.

Finn had conjured a horrifying image in his head. "I hope I don't have to dance."

"As long as I don't have to wear a shiny suit and snap my fingers, I'm good," Sam said.

"I don't care how I look, as long as I sound good." Blaine was surprised by the laughter but he managed to laugh in defence. "No, I'm serious."

Artie leaned back in his chair. "As long as you stay away from rap, we'll all be safe." He saw someone smirking. "You too, Santana. There's no need to put those people through any more pain."

"Screw you, Barry White."

Rachel was listening enough to hear their voices but she wasn't paying enough attention to know what they were talking about. Her eyes were fixed on a spot on the table, illuminated and reflected by one of the lights above.

Blaine noticed. He nudged her arm and spoke quietly not to disrupt their friends. "You okay?"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay? I couldn't help but notice the lack of... your voice. You seem to only be here in person."

Rachel shook the cobwebs away. "Sorry— I'm fine."

"Where've you been? Kurt's been pretty upset."

Just like that, she was on edge. "Kurt has no right to be upset."

"Because he lied to you? Rachel, we all did. We all knew. We thought it was the right thing to do."

"It wasn't."

Blaine sighed, dramatically waving his hand about before it settled on his face. He leaned against it. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "We're all so sorry. Is that where you've been, with Quinn?"

"Yes," Rachel said, not giving away much more.

"How's she doing? Is she okay?"

Rachel laughed. "Quinn is amazing. Yeah, she's doing very well; surpassed us all on the fantastic wave of life that she's currently surfing. Thank God for all of you: her old friends, keeping your mouths shut for the greater good. She's much better for it."

Blaine's face twisted in confusion until his eyebrows shot upward. "Do I detect high levels of sarcasm?"

Rachel glared.

Of all people, Finn was the first to notice something going on. "Is everything okay?" His question drew the attention of everyone in the room and he was suddenly the sole recipient of Rachel Berry's withering glare.

"Thank you, _Finn_."

"For what?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. She wasn't in the mood for any drama. "What's going on?" she asked.

Blaine answered swiftly and a little defensively. "I was just asking about Quinn, trying to apologise, when her hackles went up."

Puck looked to Mike and held up three fingers, lowering them in quick succession of each other until Rachel exploded.

"Oh that's right, I forgot; poor Blaine is the victim. And that's my fault, sure. It's always been anyone's fault but yours. You know what, I have news for you; I don't have to accept your apology just because it will make you feel better. I don't _care_ if you're sorry. Any of you. I'm not ready to talk about it yet and I was keeping it all inside, trying to be calm and professional because God knows if there has ever a time for it, it's now, but you guys keep bringing it up."

"Because we're sorry," Kurt said heatedly; insistently. "You keep trying to avoid talking about her but there's a big elephant in this room, Rachel, and none of us can breathe for it."

"Yeah," Santana agreed, "I know we sucked but it's not like your big moon eyes aren't back on Quinn now. You're the only one who's spoken to —never mind seen— her in years, and we're not looking at you like you're the scum of the earth."

"And you have no right to!" Rachel fired back. "None of you... none of you get it. You wouldn't understand."

"Don't be a hypocrite." Santana couldn't believe her eyes when she saw how remorseful her friends looked. "Okay, losers, I'd like to know one thing. When is anybody going to give the blame to the rightful owner? Because this song and dance we're doing now sucks like an old Finn solo and I'm just about done. None of you seem to remember that _Quinn_ is the reason any of this ever happened. She's not off the hook."

Rachel was breathing heavier, restraining herself from saying something she'd live to regret. Quinn didn't want them to know anything and she was trying to respect that.

"Hey," Finn complained.

Santana shrugged. "Well, it's true."

Rachel tried to see the bigger picture.

Her friends were angry with her most of the time because she was being so vague about Quinn, yet is spending all of her time with her. Quinn is angry with her a lot of the time because she resents having to share her space twenty-four seven and probably feels that she's being treated unfairly now that she's been clean for just over a week. And, well, Rachel was angry with all of her friends because they lied to her, and she was angry with herself because now she was the one lying to them.

And for the first time, she considered the possibility that giving Quinn her key back was the solution to most of those problems.

Quinn would be involved with them for the next seven weeks —obliged by contract if nothing else. She would have the space she needed, their friends would see her, and if anybody had to lie to them then it wouldn't have to be Rachel any more. Quinn would get her first taste of success or at least positive life experience and how it could help to build her back up; open so many doors and make her see just how far she can go in life. She could quit her lousy job and even lousier friends; get a better home.

Quinn would be exposed to just how many people care about her, not just Rachel. As deeply as Rachel cared, it was going to have to be a group effort to keep Quinn on the right path.

But in spite of all of those pros, the single con was the darkest: Quinn could lose her progress if she wasn't around anymore. The thought was so terrifying that Rachel dismissed the idea altogether. Everything would be okay the way that it currently stood. Quinn was getting better, Rachel just had to have a little more patience and work harder at not caring that she was hurting her friends in the process.

X

Quinn's shift had felt unusually long.

It had everything to do with how much of a bad day she'd had so far and the way her lower back and feet had quit on her around hour four, protesting her every movement with pain like petulant children who were tired and wanted to go home. Well, she'd like to go home, too.

Less than two hours work and she'd be on her way.

She went back to the table full of teenagers she'd been serving for the past hour and began clearing the table, ignoring the way they were laughing in a way that suggested she was the joke.

"Hey, I wasn't finished!" one of the girls screeched, preceding snorts and laughter from her friends.

Quinn resisted dropping the few cold fries over her shiny brown hair, and instead put the plate back down. She stared at the young girl while half a bottle of ketchup was squirted out, drowning and staining the fries almost beyond recognition. The girl and the boy sat beside her dipped their fingers in it and sucked them clean.

"Okay, now I'm done."

Quinn didn't know any of her co-workers well enough yet to ask if they put laxatives into brownies for the dickhead customers so that form of revenge was out of the question. She had to settle for a mental image of punching her in the face as she picked the plate back up and walked to the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes.

She returned to their table with their check. "Was everything okay?" she asked flatly.

"Your ketchup sucks," the boy said quickly, with a straight face.

"Harper!" the girl laughed hysterically.

Quinn smiled and leaned her head to the side. "The chef isn't responsible for the condiments."

They left without tipping her —not exactly a surprise but she still watched them leave the diner with a sneer on her face. In doing so, she spotted a familiar SUV parked across the street. The dark man sitting in the driver's seat had been there for hours.

She walked behind the counter and past Rashad, one of the guys on shift. "I'm taking my last break."

He looked up to see who it was, and then back down to the change he was emptying into the till. "'Kay."

Quinn was in the back room to collect her things; she had a firm grasp on her purse and had been turning to walk back through and leave out of the diner's front exit when a large hand was clamped over her mouth. She was pulled backwards and then forced around, pushed through the doors to the men's restroom.

She turned quickly, raising her knee in self-defence but it was a predictable move and her leg was grabbed before any damage had been done. Instead, she was pulled tightly against the body that had forced her in there.

It was Francis.

Quinn's expression did not soften when she saw who it was, nor after he laughed and kissed her.

"I scare you?"

"No."

"I think I did. Let me make it up to you," he said, pressing his mouth to her neck.

Quinn stayed still long enough for him to have his fun, but not too much. Francis liked to leave a mark, much to her displeasure, and she couldn't sell a believable story on that no matter how she tried. She pulled away from him and put some distance between them. "What if someone had been in here?"

"There wasn't."

"I told you I have to be careful. How's it going to look if half the diner sees you forcing me in here?"

"It sounds like you're trying to say I'm stupid, Quinn," Francis said. He produced a small packet from his pocket and held it up between his fingers. "I thought you needed this."

Quinn stared at it. "I do."

"Really? Because I'm back here again, going out of my way to satisfy your needs and you don't seem to be grateful."

"I appreciate it, you know that."

"Your actions make that pretty easy to forget." Francis put the packet back into his pocket. "I forget why we're dancing to this particular rhythm in the first place. Why haven't you been around?"

"I've been busy," Quinn said.

"With who?"

She shrugged. "Work. You see, the pay's not all that great so I have to work all the hours God sends just to scrape by."

"What about your friend?"

"What?"

"Rebecca or something, wasn't it? She was nice. Seemed very...respectable," Francis commented to a lengthy stare.

"She's not my friend."

"Said she was. She said you were friends from school."

Quinn looked at him blankly. "We went to the same school, that doesn't mean we were ever friends."

"That's intriguing."

"What is?"

"That someone you were never close with found herself at your door in the dead of night, years later."

"It's easier for me like this," Quinn explained. "But if it's not convenient for you anymore, we can stop. I can come back."

"I'd rather you make me come, and we can forget this conversation ever happened."

Quinn tried to remember how many male customers were in the diner and if any one of them would need to use the restroom. She wondered how likely it would be that one would walk through the door and interrupt, giving her a strange look after his panicked gaze had found the urinals, leaving her no option but to leave and tell Francis she'd see him soon.

But Quinn couldn't remember. She couldn't picture another man's face when Francis was moving closer to her. He would be quick; he always was. It wouldn't be long and then it would be in the past, so Quinn's hands found the back of his neck during one of his hard, demanding kisses, and when the time came for her to drop to her knees she remembered that it would all be over soon.

When she was back at work fifteen minutes later, serving a man who looked to be in his early thirties with a stack of pancakes and extra syrup, and who was actually very polite to her unlike the previous table's occupants she'd been waiting on, Quinn swallowed down the overwhelming urge to cry.

X

Rachel didn't receive so much as a glance from Quinn when she met her outside of work at eleven-thirty. She wasn't in much of a mood to try for a lot of small-talk herself but she did try for some because the silence felt thicker than it had before and it made her uncomfortable. Despite her efforts, it stayed that way for most of their journey back to Quinn's; with nothing more than the sound of their footsteps on the concrete.

The door was jammed again and Rachel didn't have to open her mouth to ask for assistance; it was given freely in the form of a single powerful kick and then Quinn strolled into the apartment, heading straight for the bathroom.

All Rachel heard for the next half an hour was the hiss of the shower spray.

It gave her time to make them both a drink and Quinn a slice of toast with peanut butter. She knew Quinn had dinner at work because she'd sent her a photo of it, purely by Rachel's behest. But that had been five hours ago and she liked to make sure Quinn was fed regularly.

It also gave Rachel time to think.

Quinn had finished work the same time she told Rachel she would every day. She put up a fuss but she went along with most of Rachel's requests, ate what was given to her and didn't say a word, though the latter was troublesome. How was Rachel to know if a recipe was a success when Quinn never said otherwise, just offered 'I'm full' as an excuse for not finishing the other half of a meal or sandwich?

It'd been the same ever since she'd taken it upon herself to move in temporarily.

While Rachel didn't want to give in and leave, she couldn't help but think of what Quinn said and look at the bigger picture again. Something had to give sooner rather than later and she would rather it be her resolve than Quinn's, if she was to wake up one day soon and decide that she was gaining nothing by being clean.

It would hurt, but Rachel had to take a step back.

The churning of her stomach had already begun and she hadn't even opened her mouth of her plans yet. It only got worse when Quinn finally finished in the shower and went to her room to dress.

Rachel leaned against the counter and took a sip of her coffee. The bitterness was a welcome taste on her tongue but the temperature didn't carry the kind of heat that she needed. She tipped a good mouthful of it down the sink and then padded across the small kitchen, reaching for the brandy. She tipped a generous measure into her coffee and tasted it again. That was better. The only way she could stand brandy was if it was in coffee. She wondered if Quinn ever drank it neat.

Rachel was sitting on the floor in front of the couch and had finished her drink by the time Quinn left the bedroom.

"I made you a drink and something to eat," she said, lifting her head to see Quinn properly, "but it's probably cold by now, sorry. I didn't know you'd be this long."

Quinn walked away from her to get her coffee and picked up the plate of toast next to it. The mug was lukewarm, so the toast was definitely cold. Not that it mattered; it was going out of the window as soon as the door was shut. She was almost back in her room when she heard Rachel's voice.

"Aren't you going to sit with me?"

Quinn stopped but didn't turn around. "I want you to go," she said softly.

Rachel stared at the back of her head but didn't say anything in return. She watched Quinn disappear back into her bedroom and had a nagging feeling that she'd be up half of the night, wondering if the next move she made would make or break Quinn.

A little before sleep finally claimed her, Rachel's eyes gravitated towards one of the windows across the room. She imagined the blinds to be pulled up rather than down, and to see a full moon rather than the side of another apartment building covered in graffiti.

It was something she did often lately, because Quinn was making Rachel think of the moon most nights now and she wondered what exactly that meant for them.


	6. How Did You Get So Far Away?

 

 

It was one of those nights where Rachel woke so frequently that she was tempted to check the time on her phone, just in case she'd done the impossible and slept the entire day away. She hadn't. Her parents still didn't owe her a thousand bucks (because if she _wanted_ to sleep the entire day away on any other than she was sick, she could. Her parents disagreed and put a wager on it).

She'd tried to get back to sleep the first half a dozen times it happened, not feeling particularly sleepy but it was clearly very late or very early and she'd had a long day the day before. Then it became too much of a chore. She got restless.

Rachel lay there in the dark and stared at Quinn's door.

She didn't understand how she could know Quinn so well but still be a mystery to her.

She felt so special to be the one to get those glimpses of the real Quinn Fabray all those summers ago; she'd felt privileged to be the one that someone like Quinn would go to in her hour of need and to find out that really, underneath it all, she was saying that she was just like her. They were both desperately lonely. The most popular girl in school had something in common with _her_. It wasn't even something trivial like loving the same TV show; it was feeling one of the most wretched emotions in existence no matter what lengths they'd gone to for it to go away. For a teenage girl, it was a lot. For Rachel, it was everything.

She wondered if Quinn had felt lonely during the past six years. Rachel wondered if she'd sat up all night talking to anyone the way she used to talk to her, if anyone had ever given her that much.

Judging by the present circumstances, it wasn't all that difficult to presume the answer to that one.

Then Rachel considered leaving again, and she didn't think of anything else until daybreak.

X

Quinn woke up with a headache the next morning.

When searching for the second fastest cure, she'd found her medicine cabinet empty of aspirin when she'd opened it. There'd been a split second of confusion before she remembered who was responsible for that. She felt nauseous and wasn't inclined to eat breakfast but she sat at the kitchen table across from Rachel and ate some dry toast to avoid any sort of argument or comments about the way her body looked.

Despite meaning what she'd said last night, she was getting used to having Rachel there. It wasn't so weird sitting down to have breakfast with her anymore.

"Did you hear Sid and Nancy last night?" Rachel asked, lowering her head to catch the yoghurt dripping off the spoon in her mouth.

Quinn shook her head, chewing with her mouth open. She wasn't feeling the toast at all. At least there was only half a slice left out of two she'd begun with.

"Well, she— Quinn, that's disgusting— Nancy went to _town_ on him."

"Gross," Quinn remarked, closing her mouth to eat.

"No, I mean they were fighting again. I was feeling sorry for the poor woman, but now it's him I almost feel sorry for. She can give as good as she gets, let me tell you. It was very entertaining. Worrying, but entertaining."

"They're not worth either."

Rachel gulped down some juice. "What are you doing today?"

"Thought I'd mix it up a little," Quinn said. "I thought maybe I'd hang out with you and go to work."

"That sounds like a really great day."

"I know," she said dryly. "What's heaven going to be like if I get this on a regular basis?"

"Hey, I have it on good authority that I'm a wonderful person to be around."

"Says who?"

" _Lots_ of people. But most importantly, me. I've spent a lot of time with myself, I'm delightful." Rachel was going to miss this. She would have to invite herself over as often as possible. When the moment was over and Quinn had gone back to looking like she was thinking about way too many things at once, Rachel preceded with caution. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

"I wasn't saying it to be a bitch."

"Do you still mean it now?"

"Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "Just— do you still mean it?"

"Yes."

Rachel had expected as much. She put her hands in her lap and leaned back in the chair, giving Quinn her full attention. "Then I'll go," she said. "Today. This morning. I would stay later but I have meetings all afternoon and I have to talk to Johnny before he goes to LA. He'll be back tomorrow but it's important."

Quinn was so shocked that she couldn't speak right away. She wanted Rachel to leave but she never expected that she would. "Why?" she asked evenly, though a frown was stuck on her head.

"I think it's for the best."

"Because of Gerry?"

Rachel almost had to ask who that was, but remembered him to be the neighbour with the voice of doom who didn't like her singing. "It has nothing to do with Gerry."

"Because of me?"

"No," Rachel said emphatically. "I swear, I'm doing this _for_ you, not because of you. You've done everything I've asked of you so far, and I'm hoping what I'm about to ask you won't be too much because I have to be honest; giving you your key back comes with... terms."

"Like what?" Quinn asked, already fairly clued in.

"Do the album with me. You don't have to care about anybody else, it can still be someone else's problem, but you need to sign that contract and work with us."

Quinn stared at Rachel, mirroring her body language without meaning to. "Let me get this straight, you're moving out and you trust me to show up at the studio tomorrow without you pushing me the entire way there?"

"I'm trying to see the bigger picture."

"What do you see?"

"I see that I can't possibly control your entire recovery. Part of it has to come from you, too. Your strength, the one you've shown me lately, will be enough to see that you get there tomorrow, I'm not worried." Rachel nodded slightly, like it was a nervous tick more than anything.

Quinn noticed. "You're worried because you have that look on your face."

"What look?" Rachel demanded.

"The pinched brows, that ominous, dreaded tone to your voice, and the way you're trying to smile in what I'm sure is a positive, upbeat indication of reassurance but is really telling me that you're scared to death to be doing this."

"My face says all that?"

Quinn's mouth twitched. "It's like the rest of you: it never shuts up."

"So... am I leaving? Do you agree?" Rachel asked hesitantly, watching her turn serious.

"You're leaving."

"You have to shake on it," she said, holding her hand out. It wasn't taken right away and she rolled her eyes lightly. "Shake my hand. It's one of the terms. Like those old-fashioned movies and the guys shake on a deal, giving their word because, you know, morality and honesty is paramount."

Quinn reached across the table to put her hand in Rachel's and they shook, very formally if you didn't count Rachel's grin. Unsurprisingly, it was Quinn who first withdrew.

"Your hands are cool."

"How does anybody have awesome hands?"

"I mean temperature wise; they're never that warm," Rachel said, noticing afterwards how Quinn was pushing the pads of her fingers against her palms, trying to warm them up.

"Oh. Bad... circulation."

"You have nice hands." There was a beat. "For the record." She inhaled and held it for a few seconds, letting it out slowly. "So, I guess I should go when we're done here. Johnny's flight is at ten and I can't miss him, it's about the album." Rachel had to talk to him but she could do it over the phone if she wanted to. She just had to leave as quickly as possible, before she changed her mind. Before she couldn't leave.

"When will you be back?"

"Soon. And I'll see you tomorrow at the studio. You don't have work, right? You can stay all day."

Quinn nodded.

Rachel insisted on staying to at least clear the kitchen from their breakfast items. She tried to prepare Quinn for the amount of fun she was about to have in a real studio but it didn't look like she was listening for most of it, and it was also Quinn who walked over to the door first.

Rachel thought she was just processing. She went over to where her bags were packed and waiting for her and picked them up, putting them out into the hall before she stood in the doorway. "This changes nothing," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm still going to be watching you like a hawk; I just won't be sleeping here. I'm here for you every step of the way, okay?"

Quinn nodded again.

"I can still annoy you over the phone; just ask Santana."

"That's all right, I believe you," Quinn replied, trying to smile to let Rachel know she was joking. Sort of.

"I'll call you later. Not to annoy you, just to say hi." Rachel was sure that she hadn't been this nervous ever, which was either false or really saying something. Either way, she felt it through her body and she needed, more than anything, for Quinn to hug her. She needed the reassurance. She threw caution to the wind and stepped forward to wrap her arms around her.

"See you tomorrow, Quinn."

"Yeah, okay."

"Hug me back, please."

Quinn's arms moved from by her side but they didn't touch Rachel yet. "Is it one of the terms?"

"Yes." Rachel's eyes were closed, through concern more than anything, and she smiled when she felt the hesitant pressure of Quinn's arms around her.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Is my key in your bra?"

Rachel laughed when she pulled back. She reached into her top and held the key up. "Not anymore."

"I knew it," Quinn smiled, feeling it to be sincere. She gripped the key in her fist when she was given it back, and then watched Rachel pick up her bags. "Do you need—"

"They're not heavy," Rachel said gratefully. "And my driver, Andrew, is waiting right outside."

"Your driver," Quinn echoed, lifting her eyebrows.

"Nobody drives in New York, Quinn." She turned serious. "Tomorrow, right? Midday. I'll put your name on the list, or you can call me before you get there. I can meet you wherever you want."

"Okay." Quinn watched Rachel smile at her and then walk away. She waited there until Rachel was nearing the end of the hallway. "Stairs!" she called out, when it looked to her like she was reaching for the elevator button.

The last thing Quinn saw was Rachel's grin as she steered away from the lift and backed into the door leading to the stairs, disappearing behind it. It was strange to stand alone in her apartment only seconds later. She'd been praying to be alone since the moment she'd opened the door expecting to see Francis and was instead faced with the girl she'd been unreasonably jealous of for her entire high school career. It'd felt like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over her on the hottest day of the year. Now she wasn't quite sure what to do.

She almost expected the cigarette to be ripped out from between her lips when she sparked up a few minutes later but the spot where Rachel slept was still empty, just like everywhere else.

X

The thing with lower-class buildings was that you never quite know if the elevator will shudder to a stop before you reach your required floor. Quinn had been trapped in enough of them over the years to take the stairs every time now, even if it didn't smell like a toilet or that someone had very recently been fucked against the wall of it.

Jackson lived on the ninth floor, so she didn't rush getting up there.

She was out of shape, because even without rushing up she felt tired.

Quinn's face broke out into a wide smile as soon as the door opened enough for Jackson to be staring back at her. He'd been the only the person she'd smiled like that for in three years. She stepped forward and put her arms around him.

"I missed you," she said, standing in his arms a few moments longer than she usually would.

"Missed you, too. Where've you been? Thought maybe you'd taken off to the Bahamas without me."

"No, we're still going there together," Quinn said as he ushered her inside. Jackson offered her a bottle of water before he occupied the space next to her on the couch. "I have something for you." Quinn reached into her purse and produced a book, wrapped only in tissue paper. "Happy Birthday," she said, looking pretty pleased with herself that she'd remembered. "It's not really wrapped, sorry."

Jackson chuckled; his laugh getting quelled before most of it had even left his lips. He gave her his best reproachful look. "You weren't supposed to get me anything," he said, pulling the paper away. It was an old copy of Swann's Way. "Proust. Well, this isn't casual reading material."

"It's well-read, but it's mine. I wanted you to have it. And I know there are those people who think he's long-winded and his work isn't worth the effort, but they're wrong, I promise."

"I look forward to reading it," Jackson said, picking up her hand to kiss it. "And my promise to you is that I will go into it with a clear head; unbiased. I love it, thank you. Next year, a gift is out of the question."

"Just a cake."

"If you must."

"With sixty candles."

Jackson grimaced. "Sixty. Jesus."

"How does it feel?" she asked. He looked his age; his hair, though it was shaved, was silver, and his skin was losing elasticity.

"A lot can happen in a year, but right now, well, I'd say it doesn't feel much different to being thirty."

"Really?"

"Really. Scary, isn't it?" It had been nearly eight years ago that he'd lost his wife to pancreatic cancer within twelve months of being diagnosed. He was a different man to the one who'd been married to Sharlene but he still loved her with every fibre of his being. Time seemed to go faster each year. He missed her so much he could barely speak about her, had turned into a different person for the past eight years, but he still didn't feel like an old man at almost sixty-years-old. Not even with a woman young enough and special enough to be his daughter sitting beside him —if he'd ever had children, and if Sharlene had ever given birth to a baby as white as Quinn it would have been a medical miracle.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

He smiled. He'd missed her. "What's been takin' your time?"

Quinn groaned, her eyes rolling. She didn't know where to even start, but then the beginning seemed like a good place. "Rachel found me."

Jackson had to think for a few seconds, and then his eyebrows lifted. "Your friend from school, Rachel?" He'd heard all about her.

"Yeah," Quinn said grudgingly. "She tracked me down."

"What did she want?"

"Too much," Quinn said. "She found out about... it, and she freaked. Told me I had to get clean and flushed everything while I was asleep. I thought I was going to kill her when I found out."

Jackson's eyes widened. "You're clean?" he smiled.

Quinn didn't like the pride in his gaze. He'd always wanted her to quit, told her to just about every other week, but she'd never be able to. "She moved _in_ ," Quinn griped, remembering how immeasurably annoyed she'd been at first. "Without permission. That was punishment enough; I just had to be careful. And she'd throw a fit if I ever went near my phone, so that's why I didn't call."

Quinn went on to tell him all about Rachel moving in and why she had sought her out in the first place, how the album was being made by all of her old friends from high school and how eventually she'd been roped into singing on it, too. He didn't need her to tell him she was nervous.

"You scared as hell?" he asked, wanting her to admit it anyway.

"I haven't seen some of them in a really long time. The people I saw or spoke to the most, I... pushed them out of any aspect of my life and now we're going to be reunited like a big, happy family in less than twenty-four hours."

"Don't sweat the small stuff."

"The small stuff?" Quinn arched a brow. "This is Everest. I don't want to go."

"So, why are you?" Jackson asked. "I know you agreed, but you got your apartment back. Rachel's gone. Why do it?"

"I said I would. She made me shake on it. I…I gave her my word."

Jackson tried not to look too amused. He liked Rachel more every time he heard about her, and especially for pushing one of his best friends when she needed it. "I see. So, what if someone else had asked?"

"They wouldn't," Quinn replied without hesitance.

"Say they would."

"They wouldn't."

Jackson put his book down and grasped Quinn's hand with both of his. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"No."

"I think you're scared as shit," he said frankly, "but you got no reason to be. You're a remarkable young woman. No, I'm serious, you are. And you should never give anybody permission to make you feel inadequate. You can stand as tall as the rest of them. Whatever mistakes you've made along the way, you've paid for them in full."

"I'm not sure they'll agree." She wasn't sure _she_ agreed.

"They will eventually. But I think this is the start of something great for you," Jackson smiled. "Promise me one thing? Don't be your own worst enemy. There are enough people in this world who will try to be that for you."

Quinn nodded but she wasn't so sure she could keep it because she was her own worst enemy. She'd been her own arch-nemesis ever since she could remember. It used to make her laugh when, in school, people thought Rachel filled that role. If only things had been so simple.

"So, what are you doing today?"

"Going to see Francis tonight, but right now? I'm in the mood for a movie with my sandwich," Jackson said.

"Do you want company?" Quinn smiled.

"Only if it's you." Jackson started off towards the kitchen. "What can I get you to eat?"

"I don't want anything."

"I can't hear you, so I'm bringing chips."

X

Quinn hadn't been able to see straight for over an hour.

The music had begun to blend in with the laughter and voiced from all around. She was having a good time; enjoying not having to stay in after she was finished with work. It was a blessing not having to answer to anybody and to be able to do anything she wanted again. All she wanted to do after her shift was dance, so there she was; another body in what was currently an overcrowded bar. It wasn't smart or anything like that, but it was popular with people she knew and she wanted to be somewhere she felt accepted.

Noise blared in her ears and she could picture everything in cartoon form when she had her eyes closed, leaning against whoever had their arms wrapped around her from behind. But instead of a hole in the wall type bar she was in, it was a hall; upscale and pricey, and everybody was dressed to impress in their smartest clothes. Instead of large speakers booming whatever was requested on the juke box, it was a band consisting of five middle-aged men and their instruments. They were all still dancing but instead of fluid movements their arms were randomly being thrust into the air, hips jutting out from side to side like everybody's feet were immobile, glued to the floor as they danced the night away.

Quinn's grin turned into a lazy laugh the more she saw with her eyes wide shut.

It was all so ridiculous.

She saw cartoon Quinn dancing in a blue dress similar to the one she'd worn to junior prom and the caption burst out from her mouth, hovering over the dancing crowd until it fizzled out.

          Ha.

     Ha.

Ha.

Someone's hands were underneath her top; she could feel one warm and one cold, which meant whoever it was had recently been holding a drink. The hands went all over her torso, feeling and grabbing whatever they wanted, and Quinn's arm reached back, hooking around a neck to steady herself when her head spun faster and faster.

It was a woman behind her, Quinn finally realised, moments before a pair of soft lips was being anything but on her neck.

X

Rachel had been a nervous wreck all morning.

She'd managed to get through to Quinn yesterday, but only once. Quinn had been on her break and assured Rachel that, no, she hadn't fled the city the first chance she got and yes, she was okay. That was between the meetings Rachel and Kurt were stuck in, going over dates for photo shoots and interviews that were practical for all involved, when the press-kit would likely be ready (as in perfect by Rachel's standards), and if the label execs thought the demo for the main single was as good as they did. She had to be honest and tell them that it was to be re-recorded soon because the final member of the group would be singing on it, but it wasn't viewed as a problem. Luckily, it was a productive and positive day.

The only downside was that Quinn didn't answer the phone when she'd called before bed. It would have been smothering and needy if she'd called for any reason other than to check if Quinn was okay, but when she received a text message an hour afterwards —still awake at almost one AM, saying nothing more than 'yeah', Rachel admitted that checking on Quinn was partly for her own peace of mind.

But that had been yesterday. Today she'd heard nothing.

It was twelve-twenty. Quinn was late.

Rachel had stopped by the studio late afternoon yesterday and told the group that they could finally stop bugging her because, at long last, Quinn was able to join them and work on the album together. She didn't get into specifics and, truth be told, most of them —herself included— were too excited at the prospect of being reunited to ask questions.

The only person who hadn't expressed much emotion either way was Santana. "We'll see if she shows up," was all she'd said.

It was playing over in Rachel's mind, especially as she hadn't heard from Quinn all morning.

She looked at her phone again. No new messages or missed calls. She glared at Johnny who was clicking away on his BlackBerry, only there to meet Quinn Fabray in person. He was wearing a new shirt.

"She's late," Santana stated.

"No," Finn said. "No, we're all just early."

Rachel nodded eagerly. "Yeah— Yes, I did leave early."

"Me too. Traffic here sucks."

Santana didn't look impressed. "Okay, while you two idiots delude yourselves into thinking that Quinn will actually show, the rest of us want to get to work."

"Well, yeah, but this is Quinn we're talking about," Mercedes added. "She said she'd be here. Maybe we should wait a little longer."

"Why, for her to disappoint us all again?"

"Looks like we're waiting," Puck sighed. "You might want to sit down, we could be here a while."

It was another fifteen minutes before Santana opened her mouth again, breaking an uncomfortable silence that had settled over the room. She looked to Rachel and shrugged. "Face it, Quinn's not coming."

"She said she'd be here, okay. I don't want to start without her."

The silence had seemingly given Finn time to think because now he looked almost as impatient as Santana. He had enough sense not to speak with such bluntness, and settled on a kinder tone. "Rachel, we have to start right now or we're gonna miss our slot."

Rachel picked up her phone again but there were no messages from Quinn explaining her absence or why she was running late. It didn't look good, whichever way she looked at it.

They were interrupted by a knock to the door.

One of the security men entered the room.

"Miss Berry?"

"Yes, Barold?"

"I thought you'd want to know that there was a situation in the lobby. You were threatened. Think it was a weird fan."

Santana smiled. "All of Rachel's fans are weird," she teased.

Barold didn't take his eyes off Rachel. "We escorted her from the building and have eyes on the doors but I understand if you'd like to call the police as a precautionary measure."

Rachel's fans were lovely. Some of them needed to get a life, sure, but she adored each and every one of them just the same. She'd never had one threaten her before.

"Where the hell are you going?" Santana asked as they all followed Rachel out into the lobby. "First and only time I'm saying this: Finn's right, we don't have all day to record."

"Actually, you'll find that we do." Rachel's hand shot up in the air, requesting silence as she approached the reception desk. She looked at the woman's nametag. "Can you tell me what just happened, Melissa?"

Melissa broke out into a bright smile at the sight of her. One of her hands flew to her chest and her voice came out high and nasally. "Miss Berry, as sweet as this is, really, a thank you is unnecessary. All I did was my job."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Well, I was sitting here redirecting a call when a strange woman walked in, completely bypassing the desk. You don't bypass the main desk, right? So I called her back, practically stabbed in the face with the way she looked at me, and asked her what business she had here. Simple, right? But could she give me a straight answer? Could she fudge. I asked again and she gave me your name." Melissa's eyes were wide. "I couldn't believe it! To follow protocol, I asked her name but as I suspected, it wasn't on the list. When she was told to beat it, she smiled. It was really creepy. That's when she threatened your life." Melissa looked to several of the faces staring back at her. "I told Barold. There was no way I was going to have some junkie threaten you. They threw her out on her ass and told her to never come back."

Rachel was already walking away, punching in a number on her phone. Johnny was quick on her heels, along with her friends. They were all puzzled. "It's her," Rachel said as she listened to it ring.

Melissa jumped out of her seat. "Did I do something wrong?"

Rachel glanced back at her, then to Johnny. "Fire her. I'm going to get Quinn."

Johnny looked unsure. "I'm not certain that either of us have the authority to—" Rachel's look was sharp. "I'll see what I can do."

Everybody looked confused but, again, it was Santana who asked what they were all thinking. "What the hell's going on?"

Rachel hated to leave them with so many questions but the phone finally stopped ringing and was answered. She spoke away from the mouthpiece. "I'll explain later, I'm sorry." Then she was walking away, heading out of the building. "Quinn?"

X

Quinn didn't go far.

She was a block away, walking up and down until her phone rang. That didn't take long. An apology was blurted into her ear before she'd finished saying hello. It wasn't unexpected but it was unnecessary. She didn't blame Rachel for an incompetent receptionist.

She was going to go home again but it seemed like a waste of a journey, which meant she'd wasted money on a bus ticket. And Quinn hated wasting money if she didn't have to. Plus there was the chance of dealing with Miss Incompetent again and Quinn wanted to give her an immature victorious smirk on the way past. It would make her day.

Quinn could hear another apology before she even saw Rachel rushing up to her. She shrugged, and Rachel took it as an invitation to wrap her fingers around Quinn's arm.

"No, it's not okay. She shouldn't have dismissed you purely because of the way that you look. Don't worry; I'm having her fired immediately." Rachel was furious. She didn't understand why Quinn didn't look upset.

"It's not the first time something like this has happened."

"And Johnny," Rachel fumed, "I told him _specifically_ to put your name on that list. Three times; once in person, once by text, and once by e-mail. You'd think he'd get the message." Quinn just let her get it out of her system and carried on walking. "I can't believe they physically removed you from the building."

"What?" Quinn asked.

"Melissa, she— she said security threw you out."

"Threw me out? I _walked_. Like I was going to stick around and wait for the cops. Any longer and I might have punched that airhead. How do you put up with her voice?"

The fact that Quinn had voluntarily left the building instead of being forcibly ejected made her feel worlds better. She began to smile. "Well, I don't have to listen to Melissa all the time. Only if I record at that studio. I don't think she's been there that long."

"And she's already being fired. Shame."

Rachel had missed Quinn but she didn't say that in so many words. Instead, she said, "It's good to see you."

"You saw me yesterday."

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

Quinn shrugged. "We shook on it," she said indifferently. They walked further up the street and she glanced at Rachel. "So, what are they like?"

"They?"

"Everyone. Are they there?"

"Yeah," Rachel confirmed. "And they're kind of all the same, just... older. More mature."

Quinn took it all in. "What are they up to besides this?"

"You can ask them yourself."

"I'm asking you."

Rachel went on to tell her that Finn was working in a tyre shop in Indiana but spent any free time with his band, who were underground but that was okay because he loved what he did. Mercedes lived in LA, started out singing in bars and eventually got noticed. She had two albums on iTunes; the first did better than the second but they were both incredible in Rachel's opinion. Santana and Brittany were also in LA; Santana got signed a couple of years ago but only had one album out. It had been a success. Brittany worked in a daycare centre. She was good with children; she had the energy for them and they loved her for it.

Kurt and Blaine had both been in the city, on stage and in front of the camera for various roles. Mike got paid to dance these days, and rightfully so. Sam modelled and had learned to fully accept his body as a result of it. Puck was still in Lima. He still cleaned pools but he was also a regular handyman. It'd worked in his favour. He said women ate him up and then he ate them, nauseating Rachel in the process with his crudeness. Artie was still trying to get taken seriously by a record company for his solo material. So far he hadn't had much luck but new demos were out there, so maybe he'd hear some good news soon. Tina had a similar story, not having success with a label, but had taken matters into her own hands and uploaded her music online. She had a significant following for her acoustic covers and the original song she'd been brave enough to upload. Hopefully it would gain attention with the group's album.

It never mattered what came out of Rachel's mouth, Quinn was always going to be intimidated by what she said.

X

Melissa scowled when Quinn bypassed the desk for the second time that day, this time with an added smirk. She wanted to throw an eraser at her. Before she could pick one up, however, Rachel Berry (aka her idol) was there, printing Quinn's name and the time. It stung when Rachel wouldn't even look at her. How was she supposed to know that the human scarecrow was a friend?

Rachel walked away without a word and caught up with Quinn, who was waiting around the corner, not knowing where to go and not particularly wanting to in the first place. She noticed the way Quinn was fidgeting. "Before we go in, there's something I need to tell you. When I heard about what happened here, I wasn't alone. Melissa was so rude and, well, everyone— everyone heard her call you a junkie. I didn't get a chance to explain before I left. Do you want me to go in first and talk to them? I can tell them whatever you want, but they're not... when they see you, it might be harder to convince them that—"

Quinn blew out a long breath. This was such a bad idea.

"They care about you," Rachel said. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

"I'm not," Quinn dismissed at once.

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

"I'm here because it's the only way I get to keep my space," Quinn said. "But if they say anything or start throwing shit at me, I'm done. I don't care. It's just an album. And you know I'll throw everything back them."

"Will you wait here while I go in there? I'll try not to be too long." Quinn didn't disagree, which meant she would probably stay put. "Please don't antagonise Melissa if you get bored."

"If I get bored, I'll leave."

Rachel smiled. "Fine, antagonise if you must but don't do anything that's going to get you arrested." She walked further down the hallway and into the lounge where all eyes were on her as soon as the door opened. They remained that way even after she closed the door.

Mercedes had been crying.

"Rachel, what's going on? You've been so secretive, and then what Melissa said? Tell me it's not what some of us are thinking."

Rachel lifted her chin higher, preparing for whatever was about to come next. "I'm sorry, but I can't." It went horribly silent for a moment and then it was more than Mercedes who had burst into a fresh wave of tears. She couldn't look at any of the girls, but guys didn't help either. Artie, Mike and Sam looked too stunned to even think about yelling but Finn and Puck were a different matter. She thought Puck looked mad enough to walk right up to her and punch her in the face, and Finn had turned white; swallowing heavy with his eyebrows pulled tight, he seemed to be stuck between denial and anger.

Brittany's eyes were full. She looked a lot younger when she cried. "You didn't tell us?"

"I wanted to. So much."

"That is _bull_ ," Puck bit out, maddened.

"In all of the time you've been pissed at us for keeping secrets, you've been doing the exact same," Blaine stated. "That's great. Thanks, Rachel."

Puck jumped to his feet. "Where is she?"

"You need to calm down," Rachel ordered. "I know it's the worst shock. It's having the floor fall from beneath your feet and you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try, but you all need to listen to me. Having any of you jump down Quinn's throat is not why I brought her here, so I don't want to hear or see anything of the sort. I did it because I can't do this by myself. However much she protests, she needs us. You can't turn this into your problem, okay? It's hers. And we have to be there for her."

"There for her?" Puck laughed hollowly. "While she's throwing her life down the toilet?"

"She's recovering. She's clean. Quinn's doing really, really great right now but it's not over. She still has a way to go."

"Is she okay?" Mercedes asked, tear-stricken. Her question was left unanswered for the moment as Blaine saw Kurt in tears too.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say we're waiting for an apology."

Rachel felt like she could tolerate Blaine's disdain at a time when emotions were running high, but that didn't mean she had to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Blaine; all of you, for keeping schtum on a catastrophic turn of events that I was blindsided by while I tried to figure out which way best to deal with it without making Quinn worse. It was selfish of me to keep a secret from you for ten days as opposed to three years, you're right."

"You don't speak for me, Blaine." Sam rejected, and then focused his attention on Rachel. "Look, the issue here isn't that you lied, it's Quinn. Where is she? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, it is," Finn said resentfully.

"I did what I thought was best," she said in response to Finn. "The circumstances between then and now couldn't have been more different, so please don't start with me."

Finn stood next to Puck. "No, I think I will. What the hell were you thinking, if you even were at all?"

"I think I just covered what was running through my mind at the time. I don't have time to repeat myself if you're having trouble keeping up with the conversation."

"It's _Quinn_ , Rachel!" he yelled furiously, stepping forward to be a stride closer to her. "You should have said something!"

Finn was too preoccupied with his anger for Rachel to notice that the door was being pushed open. Seconds after that he wondered what had gained everyone's attention across the room and why Santana turned away, making a subtle attempt to wipe her eyes before anybody saw her tears. He paled again when he saw who it was.

"Quinn."

Quinn looked to Rachel first, then Finn. "Are you done acting like a caveman?"

He couldn't stop staring at her. She looked so different to how he remembered. His heart was pounding but it was, as ever, her eyes that snapped him out of a stupor. "She should have told us," he said stubbornly.

Quinn tried not to notice the way she was being gawked at. She tried not to notice the way her old friends were crying over her, horrified by the news and her appearance.

As soon as Kurt's eyes had settled on Quinn he felt a sudden pain seizing in his chest, getting significantly worse when he heard her voice. It made him feel unsteady and sick. His eyes were still wet and he looked to his step-brother. "Because we're all dealing with this maturely? Stop pointing fingers, Finn." He cleared his throat. "It's really good to see you, Quinn."

"Hey," Quinn said. She looked to Puck and saw the way he was glaring at her. "Don't waste your breath. Everything you're thinking about screaming in my face has already been said. I'm here to sing, not dredge up the past. If you can't deal with that, just say the word and I'm gone."

"You're a train wreck," Puck declared. Tact was never his style.

Quinn looked unbothered; curious more than anything. "And you're the example. Tell me, how's Lima after all these years? You're the only one of us who got stuck— sorry, chose to stay there."

Blaine shrank back in his seat, turning to see if anybody else was looking as afraid as he felt. It seemed that people were paying too much attention to Quinn for her words to truly register.

Brittany was the first one to push herself out of her seat and walk over to Quinn. She didn't care how different Quinn was, they were still friends as far as she was concerned. And she hadn't seen her friend in a very long time. Brittany's long arms slinked around her neck and body. "I missed you so much."

Quinn's arms were stationary by her sides. Brittany's hugs had always been like being wrapped up and that hadn't changed. She didn't know what to say to her so she said nothing, even when Brittany stared at her closely and then leaned in, kissing her cheek soundly.

Mercedes was next for a hug, and so everyone else (excluding Finn, Puck and Santana) did the same when it was their turn to greet Quinn after so long. Artie's was by far the most awkward.

When she'd been released, Quinn looked around the large lounge they were in and her stare fixed on the adjacent studio. Rachel saw her quiet fascination.

The group were no longer standing but they were still reeling, trying to process how much had changed in the past hour alone.

"So, we have a lot of work ahead of us. Quinn, do you know anything about what we've done so far?" Kurt asked kindly.

Everybody had taken back to their seats and she looked for a safe place to sit. "Practice," she said, sitting beside Rachel.

He went on to bring her up to speed on how they'd been productive over the past week, including the promotion, and told her how amazing the vocal coach was. They would have him in to give her support wherever she needed it because he wouldn't settle for the album being any less than amazing, which it would be if she was there and took it seriously.

Mike spoke up about his poster and pointed to the nearest wall where it was temporarily tacked up. "It's going out with the album, totally free," he said excitedly, watching her look it over. It held her attention for a while, so he took it as a good sign.

"We're doing a video together tomorrow," Mercedes told Quinn. "Promoting the single and album. It should be fun."

"I don't want to do a video." Quinn didn't say this nastily, but she left no room for disagreement either.

"What're you gonna do, be a voice and not a face to those people out there?" Puck asked.

"That's exactly what I want right now."

He nearly bit through his tongue to keep his mouth shut.

"I have our vocal coach, Carter, coming over soon," Rachel told her. "He's still working with the others and we can see where you're at."

"I'm going to need a lot of work," Quinn admitted. "It's not like I've been bursting into song every day since I graduated."

Rachel sort of smiled at that. "Yeah, I got that. Although, I don't see how when you live next door to a Disney character."

Artie played Quinn the demos they'd recorded so far and told her which areas and songs they wanted to build on. It was surreal to listen to them all sing together again. It was like she'd been catapulted back in time where everything felt lighter. She thought they sounded good and almost expected Mr Schuester to walk in the room clapping proudly, acting as if he had been involved during the entire process.

Seconds later, the door did open and her head shot up.

Thankfully, it wasn't William Schuester. It was a complete stranger trying to balance two trays of coffee. Rachel went to help him.

"I hope that's tea, Johnny. Some of us don't need any help being tense." Her eyes flicked over to Finn and Puck, and then Santana who still hadn't said anything.

So that was the man responsible for Rachel knocking on her door. Quinn stared at him and watched him eventually notice her sitting there. The surprise was written all over Johnny's face. He obviously had been anticipating a much different Quinn Fabray. Knowing Rachel, she'd probably shown him an old Glee Club photo.

In spite of his involuntary reaction —his eyes had widened with no permission from him, Johnny headed over to Quinn and held out his hand, smiling what he hoped to be his least awkward and his most charming smile. "I'm sorry; I don't believe we've met. Johnny Caldwell, I'm Rachel's manager. Or I get paid to be, but she's difficult to manage. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Quinn only caught his name. She didn't shake his hand. "Quinn."

Johnny offered his other hand, containing a drink. She didn't take that either. "Cappuccino," he explained.

"I take coffee black. Two sugars."

"Oh." He hadn't ordered anybody a regular black coffee in he didn't know how long. Who didn't like a latte or cappuccino? "I don't think I have one."

"I don't want one."

Johnny dipped his head and then spun around, walking back to where Rachel was handing a coffee to Kurt, giving him a small smile. Johnny grasped her arm and spoke into her ear. "A word in private, please."

They left the room and he made sure to walk far enough down the corridor so that their conversation wouldn't be overheard. He looked down to her.

"Yes?" she said.

"I want to ask you something but I'm still trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like a prick."

"Then allow me to start. Why didn't you put Quinn's name on the list? I told you how important it was."

Johnny opened his mouth to plead his innocence when he realised a phone call had interrupted him when he'd been on his way to do it. "I'm sorry, I got distracted. It won't happen again." He began to look sheepish. "Rachel, the thing is—"

Her stance became guarded. "If this is what I think it's about..."

"It's not about my opinion of her, but is Quinn signed off? The label knows— has seen a recent picture, had a meeting with her?" Johnny held his shoulders up, half-raising his hands to quell Rachel's impending rant. "Some people may need convincing that she's fit to be a public figure."

"Well, she is," Rachel argued. "And they know Quinn's been sick."

"She's sick?" Well, now he really felt like an asshole.

"Arguably."

"Arguably? What does that mean? She either has an incurable foreign disease and the nation's sympathy or she doesn't, which is it?"

Rachel surveyed the hallway to confirm they were alone but spoke quietly just in case. "Look, she's clean now, okay? You need to trust me; Quinn being involved with this project will only make it better. A-and they can work wonders with make-up. It won't be a problem."

Johnny's eyes did that thing again where they nearly burst out of his head. "She's _what_?"

"Keep your voice down. And this stays between us, Johnny. I'm serious about that."

"Do you know what this could do to your career if you're linked to her? Young girls look up to you whether you want them to or not; the press will annihilate you if they find out about this."

Rachel swallowed at the thought of it but her chosen reaction was a careless shrug. Some of the press would undoubtedly be negative but she thought he was being a little dramatic, especially as Quinn was in the process of getting clean. Either way, Rachel would take it. "A-as Doris Day once sung, que sera—"

" _Rachel_."

"She's my friend, Johnny."

X

Quinn spent whatever free time she had at the studio over the next week.

It was hard. She had late nights at work and early mornings at the studio and it was difficult to concentrate with Carter, the vocal coach, when her attention span was short. Her voice had been as weak as she knew it would be the first time she sang for him —away from Rachel or her friends from school. That was one of Quinn's terms. She didn't want anybody to listen to her sing until she'd improved. It was nice not to feel suffocated in a room full of people but on the other hand, Carter wasn't much fun to hang around at first. He was always pushing.

He asked Quinn her range, then to demonstrate it.

It didn't come out the way it used to in high school. Her voice was breathy and broke easily.

As annoying as she found that, it was worse to hear Carter tell her that just because she was too breathy and her voice broke when she sang certain notes, it didn't mean that wasn't her range anymore. It just meant it needed to be developed again. All she had to do was listen to him, trust him, and she would improve.

They started from the basics. It was strange being taught how to breathe properly in order to sing again but she went along with it. She rolled her eyes at some of the sillier techniques at first but then it wasn't such a big deal to look or sound stupid when Carter demonstrated them with her. The lip roll made her grin the first two times she tried to do it, but she didn't mean to so it didn't count. When they progressed to the techniques for producing better high notes, she kept yawning. It was a challenge not to do so when she had to keep moving and raising her soft palate.

Carter had recorded their first session and the sixth, and played both of them back to back for her to listen to.

Quinn had improved more than she thought was possible in such a short amount of time.

The main single had to be re-worked so the next time Quinn went into the studio it was to record; not for comparison but for real. She wasn't late. In fact, according to Rachel's watch, Quinn had arrived sixteen minutes before they were due to meet.

Quinn was on the main single, three group numbers and a solo. She didn't understand how she got saddled with one when she was the last person to sign up but she didn't care. Everybody seemed to be heavily involved with the album and there'd been no egotistical arguments at all. Maybe they'd matured, after all. But nothing had changed in the week that she'd been with Carter. She still didn't want anyone to sit in with her while she recorded, as was common with everybody else. None of them recorded alone. Some of them were always sitting on the floor listening and supporting. She didn't need any of that.

Besides, she could tell that everyone was still treading on eggshells around her. Except for Puck and Santana, they'd all been too nice, too polite, and other than being wary, she was growing tired of it. Truthfully, Quinn's patience would have been wearing just as thin if they were to have been rude to her all week. No matter how they acted, it was always going to feel overwhelming with so many eyes on her. She hadn't had so many people from the past in one place like this before, people who knew the differences she'd made, both mentally and physically, and weren't afraid to voice those observations under the right circumstances.

Oppositely, the group would have found a reason to be just as frustrated with Quinn even if she hadn't have been acting aloof all week. She could have been an angel and certain people would have still wanted to jump down her throat.

Quinn wanted it to be over as soon as possible.

She spent a couple of hours recording her lines for the single and then everybody was hanging around the lounge, so she decided to see what was going on. Finn was the nearest safe person so she stayed by him. He'd been the only one of the three members of the group who was angry at her and Rachel to come around and make an effort with her in the past week that didn't feel strained, as well as apologise to Rachel for his outburst.

Rachel was talking.

"I know we weren't booked until tomorrow night but another band cancelled —food poisoning or something, I don't care. We have the extra time and we should use it. I booked us all day again so you guys need to be here at ten AM sharp so we can cover some ground and get the single finished and as amazing and perfect as it can be."

Almost everybody agreed and was grateful for the extra time.

Finn groaned quietly. Rachel's little change of plan really screwed up his. He was flying to Ohio that night to surprise his mother for her birthday. He'd made arrangements with Burt so that he could spend the afternoon with his Mom and then go out for a family dinner, sans Kurt and Blaine who had arranged for flowers to be delivered and called her to apologise that they couldn't make it this year. The reservations had been made.

"What?" Quinn asked him.

"Nothing."

"If you have something to say, just spit it out."

"It's my Mom's birthday tomorrow," he said, avoiding looking at Rachel. "I was going to fly out tonight and get back late tomorrow."

"In the middle of all of this?" Rachel asked. She smiled. "I'm sorry, did I not express how important it is that we keep to a tight schedule now that we're recording?"

"Yeah, but—"

"But you're taking off to visit your Mom?"

"It's her birthday," he said sheepishly. Finn tried to think of a way to dig himself out of the hole he was in with Rachel and the one he'd be in if he was to call Burt and cancel the whole thing. "I wasn't supposed to be singing tomorrow anyway. You kinda threw this on us." Rachel's expression worried him. Obviously that hadn't been the right thing to say, so he added, "I mean, I could leave tonight and take her to breakfast, I guess. I just thought it'd be nice if we spent a day together."

Mercedes smiled. "That's really sweet, Finn."

"So sweet, Mama's boy," Puck said.

Finn frowned. "Shut up."

"If you want to go, go." Quinn didn't see the point of everyone putting their lives on hold just for an album, especially to miss out on something as small as one day. Surely they could take that. If Finn wanted to see his Mom, who cared?

"I will. We'll do breakfast instead. Hopefully she's not going to be disappointed that I'm not staying longer. But it's cool, I can visit when the record's done."

Quinn stared at him. "Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Why don't you just tell her that she screwed up?" Quinn looked to Rachel. "I'm sorry but, Rachel, you screwed up." She looked back to Finn, who appeared, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "See? How difficult is it to be honest?"

"It's not a big deal. I just didn't want to step on anyone's toes."

"Where are you going to get in life if you think like that?" She pressed a finger to his chest. "You know Finn; underneath all of this is a backbone. Or is there?" she asked. "Maybe it's still a girlfriend's arm propping you up, I don't know."

There was a moment of charged silence, and then Santana stepped forward. "You're right, you don't know. You don't know any of us anymore. You cut us out, remember?"

And there it was.

The can of worms had officially been opened.

Quinn faced Santana head on. "It's a pity your tongue wasn't cut out."

Santana smiled dangerously and Rachel spoke up. "I-I think we should take a break. Everyone's tired and hungry. Finn, I should have checked that everyone could make it tomorrow, I'm sorry. That was my fault."

"Quinn's not," Santana said. "Look at her; she's surviving off a handful of seeds every few days. You know, sweetie, when you talked about being a model in freshman year, I didn't think you'd end up taking their diet so seriously. It's too bad you look like Corpse Bride."

Sam swallowed. This was not going to end well if it continued. "Santana, maybe you shouldn't."

"I agree," Rachel added sharply. "This isn't going to—"

"Corpse Bride is way too chunky for Quinn," Puck cut in over her voice. "Who looks worse? Uh..."

"Did you guys ever see The Machinist?" Artie asked. "We could call her _Quinn_ Reznik." He shared a high-five with Puck.

"Don't do this," Rachel begged, knowing where it was leading to.

Nobody paid her any attention.

Mercedes looked at the newly-printed poster temporarily pinned up on the wall and then to Quinn. "They're right. I don't know about a hero, you look more like a villain. You're going to give some of those kids recurring nightmares if you don't do something about it."

"And what would you propose I do?" Quinn asked. "I mean, you are an expert at putting on weight, Mercedes. Write me down some tips. Oh," she laughed, "speaking of villains, Artie, we should get you an eye-patch. The cripple is always evil. It might take away the attention from the hideous glasses you still wear." Quinn walked closer to study the poster. She spotted cartoon Artie wheeling a tower of women on his lap to a nearby ambulance; fat and slim, looking precariously unsteady. "You're still in your chair. Mike didn't even think in an alternate reality that you'd be any real help. How does that make you feel? If I were you, I'd be having words with dear old Mike. Not such a friend after all, is he?"

Tina stood up. "How can you say this?"

Santana's expression looked like it could sour milk in mere seconds. "You are such a fucking bitch."

Puck looked like he was going to say something too, so Quinn held her hands up. "Whoa, whoa, guys, stop. Hold on a second. Tina has something she'd like to share. The stage is yours." Tina stared at her with the same slightly frightened expression that she'd always had in school. It made Quinn smirk. "Still don't know what to do with one? I heard that you still shy away from the limelight. You sit on a stool underneath a spotlight but, let's be real, a spotlight in your kitchen isn't the sort of stuff that dreams are made of. But maybe it's a good thing? No pressure of being an idol to young girls who are too weak-minded to form a personality without a celebrity's help." Quinn sighed deeply. "Phew, right? You really dodged a bullet by being a nobody."

Brittany's hand covered Tina's when she noticed the excess of moisture in her friend's eyes. "Quinn, I think you're being really mean," she said. "I don't like it."

"You didn't get so lucky, Britt. No, unfortunately a bullet got you." Quinn's eyes wandered to Santana. "But the sympathy only extends so far. You do open your legs willingly for it. Is it still every day like it was in school, or does she get that from fans?"

Most frustratingly, Santana slammed against Sam's chest instead of Quinn's, blocked from her true target. She struggled against him, stretching over his shoulder to point. Her voice was raised. "You better hope I'm not alone with you any time soon, because I swear to God, I'll break your neck. A slap is all it would take."

Rachel had rushed forward just after Sam did. She'd been exchanging worried looks with Finn when Santana had pounced. That same concern had magnified exponentially and she wanted to go back to when it was just her that Quinn had to worry about. That way she wouldn't have to be worrying what her friends would say to Quinn and how their words and actions would push her back over the edge. Rachel had only just got her back from it. Their progress couldn't be ruined.

She touched Quinn's hand and spoke softly. "You need to stop. Come outside with me."

Quinn's reaction was instantaneous. She ripped her hand away and spun around to face Rachel properly, her eyes shadowy. "You don't have to remind me you're still here; it's a little hard to forget. But I was just getting to you. Where to start..." Quinn looked bitter, desperate to unleash a furious slur of words to cut Rachel to the bone. There were so many that it was difficult to choose just one, to even begin with one. Why not three? Why not four? The opportunity to humiliate Rachel in front of everyone was too good to pass up.

Quinn opened her mouth and Rachel told herself that whatever came out of it, she wouldn't mean it. She told herself that but it didn't mean she was any less afraid and she knew her face showed that. She watched a superior smile appear at Quinn's lips. Was this it? Had she thought of something terrible enough? The best was always saved for last, wasn't it?

Rachel was learning and she knew that she couldn't look away and pretend this wasn't happening. In doing so, she was the only one to bear witness to the pinch between Quinn's eyes and the slow and stubborn way in which her face fell before she pushed past Finn and left the room in a storm.

Rachel felt her chest catch and fall the same way.

Everybody was quiet for a moment. Finn spoke first, looking horribly remorseful. "I'm so sorry. It really wasn't a big deal, I don't wanna hold you guys up."

"It's not your fault, Finn," Rachel said. "But the rest of you... some of you... you better pray this doesn't put us right back to square one. How dare you go off at her like that when I told you how much she needs us? I made her feel like she would be safe here!"

Santana looked appalled. "Wait a second. Twiggy attacks us and we're supposed to sit here and pretend like the reason she doesn't look like and act a freak is because she's been using for the past three years? No way. She needed shaking. She can't think that killing herself is something we're okay with."

"And now there needs to be apologies all around and most of you are still too stubborn to do it," Rachel said. "We're supposed to be recording an album, okay. We're not Fleetwood Mac. I don't want us to be fighting. I'm going to find Quinn, and when she gets back here, whether it's today or not, I want to hear apologies."

"Don't try to diva-drop me," Santana said. "Did you even hear what she said?"

"Yes, I did. She was in the wrong too; I'm not saying she wasn't. But you should know better. Quinn is really, really fragile right now. The last thing she needs is to feel like there's no-one in the world who will accept her. That's what we were about, right? Acceptance, no matter who you are. I thought you of all people would understand that."

Rachel found smoking Quinn in the alley next to the studio.

She went to stand with her, standing close enough that she might as well have been smoking the cigarette herself even though Quinn was trying to blow it in the opposite direction. Rachel didn't like the smell at all but at the same time a lot of things she associated Quinn with were slowly becoming a comfort to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked carefully.

Quinn threw her smoke away despite not being done with it. "No."

"I'm so sorry about them. I didn't know they were going to jump on you like that."

"Don't apologise to me."

"Not even when I feel like it's owed?"

"You don't owe me anything," Quinn said morosely. She chanced a look at Rachel and wished she hadn't. "I have to go."

Rachel expected Quinn to have fled without so much as a goodbye, so that warning almost felt like one, like she meant enough to Quinn to at least be given that much. Maybe if things were different she would have nodded gently and let her go, but things weren't different and Rachel never could keep her emotions hidden.

"I feel like I do have to say that. If not on behalf of those idiots upstairs —who care about you, by the way— then on behalf of me. You're my friend, so I'm apologising to my friend, who I also care about, so much. I see the effort you're putting in every day and I want you to know that I'm proud of you."

"You think you are."

"What, that you're my friend or that I'm proud of you? Quinn, I promise you, both of those things are not untrue. We are friends now. I always figured I would be speechless at your determination to kick your...habits, but it looks like no force on this earth can keep my mouth shut when I really want to say something, so, yes, I'm proud of you. Almost speechless because of it, if you must know. I always knew you could do it, and it just ... it shows incredible determination and strength that you were able to get through this."

"You need to stop," Quinn said. Her voice was nothing like Rachel's had been. There was no softness to it.

Rachel took it as a sign of modesty and lifted Quinn's arm, pushing up the sleeve to take a good look at it. The track marks there were old, faded pink or purple. She didn't know how long they would be on her arm but she knew Quinn would always see them there, even if they did heal entirely. Rachel would never be able to unsee them, either. Everything about the experience had been permanently engrained into her mind.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she looked back up. "Do you know how happy this makes me? I was so scared the first time I saw these. I'd never felt so powerless in my entire life. Now here we are, and you're— perfect. You're healthy and alive, and I'm just... I'm so proud of you, Quinn."

The way Rachel saw it this time was in reverse; Quinn's face crumbled, leaving only a strained second until it morphed into a non-suppressible rage. "What does this mean to you?" she asked, tipping her head down in gesture to her arm.

"Everything."

"No, Rachel, what does this mean to you? A clean arm?" She shook her head. "Do you think it's a sign?"

"Of course it's a sign. It's a sign that you've stopped, of your strength."

"I don't have any."

"How can you say that after everything you've been through?"

"Because I'm still using. I never stopped."

Rachel recoiled, unable to take her eyes off Quinn. She heard the sounds of the city around them like she was under water. Shook her head. "You're lying," she eventually said. "You just don't want me to say I told you so because I've known you could do it all along."

"It has nothing to do with you," Quinn said bluntly. "I'm using because I can't stop, that's it. It's that simple."

"No."

"I see Francis at work, so you should probably fire that guy I know you have watching me. Did you really think I wouldn't notice some huge guy trailing me? I live alone in a city, of course I'd catch on."

"But— you were sick." Rachel's heart throbbed brutally. "You were different." In a matter of seconds her face evened out and her voice sounded smoother, more composed. "You're lying. Your arms are healing."

Quinn smiled nastily. "I was sick once; I told you at the time you'd made me eat too much. And you don't think I have other veins or methods of getting it into my system?" Upon Rachel's soft intake of breath and the way her eyes were shimmering even there; in a dank alley where it was likely nothing had ever shone there before, Quinn's face twisted back into anger. "I told you nothing had changed. I'm always going to be an addict, Rachel. You keep forgetting that. You keep forgetting that I can't stop. Why would I ever try?"

"Because I begged you to," Rachel yelled. "Because I want you to be clean more than anything. God, because I believe in you, Quinn, and I know you can do it!"

"I don't care what you want! What about what I want? I haven't seen you in forever Rachel, so why would I care? You can stand there and think whatever you want about me. Like your opinion actually matters."

"You're a bitch."

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "Do you hate me yet?" If she didn't, Rachel was doing an accurate impression of it with the way she was looking at her. "You're throwing a fit here because you're not getting your own way. Yeah, looks like you've really changed since high school."

Rachel's eyes widened and her voice came out loud. "I care about you. Why do you take everything I say or do as a personal attack? I just want you better! I want you alive!"

"I am better! I'm fine. You just won't see that." Quinn pitied her with a laugh. "It's pathetic. You're pathetic."

Rachel's lower lip trembled noticeably and everything she had said to her friends upstairs in the studio got swept from her mind in a storm of unimaginable hurt at Quinn's actions and words. Her own naivety. All this time she thought she'd been helping her. "Not as pathetic as you," she said.

Quinn watched her walk away and made no effort to rush after her. Everything felt too heavy, anyway. She'd only collapse under the weight.

It seemed to get worse the longer she stood there alone.


	7. Dark Side of the Moon

A day had passed since she'd seen Rachel, much less heard from her. And it had been seven hours now that Quinn wanted to close her eyes and fade out.

She didn't think a person could experience that much pain and misery and still be conscious but she'd proven herself wrong each minute she continued to lay curled up on the floor, wishing she could burrow down into it and never have to come out ever again. Her face, though recurrently colourless, had taken on an ashen sort of white; damp with sweat and tears.

Her eyes and nose were beginning to sore from how often she had tried to wipe them dry. This had happened the other time she'd gone into withdrawal. Her face turned into a tap. Her entire body seemed to want to rid itself of anything inside, like it was filtering out the poison. Everything had to go. She was terrified nothing would be left by the time she was clean. What if everything inside wasn't enough? Sometimes in order to start again, you had to offer everything.

She found it curious how her body had lay on the floor in the exact same spot a thousand times before and never once had it feel as though the occupants of 8D were impaling her. She didn't think the quiet Asian couple living on the floor below even owned a javelin but the debilitating shocks of pain radiating through her spine, settling in the small of her back, implied otherwise.

The growing moisture on her head was suggestive of a fever but Quinn was certain she didn't have one. She was unable to still her body; a tremulous, erratic jumble which did nothing but add a little more depth to the black she could see behind her eyelids. It was colder than she could ever remember it, even worse than one Christmas when she was a child and she went out of town for winter break and the cabin lost power during the blizzard. She'd been certain at the time that she'd never again see another episode of her favourite TV show, but this was different. There was coldness inside of her that even fire couldn't fix.

Nevertheless, desperate, she found herself wrapped up in a blanket. The material was thick and soft but it might as well have been paper for all the good it did.

Quinn gasped, her body curling in on itself to battle the sensation of her stomach being ripped apart.

It was getting worse.

She touched her forehead against the blanket, pulling it up to her face. She thought it might help to touch her head to something soft but it made it worse. Suddenly she was surrounded by Rachel; her scent fastened around Quinn's body and refused to let go. The deep breath she inhaled took Rachel with her and then she was attacked with the same oppressive sensation in her chest as yesterday in the alley.

There were whispers around the apartment. She could hear spiteful laughter coming from the bathroom. It wasn't real, she knew that, but it sounded as indisputable as her own voice whenever she'd open her mouth. Sensation gave way to curiosity for a scant moment so that she could focus more on the sound coming from the bathroom. Laughter had been replaced with something else. The tone of voice was feminine and childlike. It sounded like...

Quinn's head lolled around and she used a foot to pull the blanket down away from her face in order to see over to the bathroom. The door was half-open.

Lucy's head peered around the door at her first. The unfashionable hair and badly-cut bangs were as off-putting as ever; accompanied with the glasses too big for her face. The pink sweater, once her favourite, was in running for the ugliest one Rachel had ever worn in school.

Quinn's alarm was painted across her face but she couldn't look away, not even when Lucy emerged from the bathroom entirely and began a slow walk over to where she lay on the floor.

Lucy laughed. It looked strange to see a grin so wide and genuine on that face.

"I'm telling Mom."

Quinn's breath caught in her throat, back arching as the Asian couple below began stabbing again. Her eyes leaked down past her temples, dampening her hair and still she couldn't tear her eyes away from the girl she used to be.

"Would Mom even care?" Lucy questioned her own statement. "Does she love you more now, _Quinn_?"

"Shut up," Quinn growled, as strongly as she could. She could tell how effective it was going to be as soon as Lucy smiled again.

"How about Daddy?" Lucy's chubby fingers were running over the records on the media unit as she got closer. "That's so funny! What about sissy? Is she still really nice to you, or did that sister bond break like our nose?" Of course, the answers were obvious to her. "At least it was all worth it," she said flippantly. "You're happier now. You have everything you ever wanted." The humorous glint in her eyes dulled and she lowered down to her hands and knees, crawling over to Quinn. Fury darkened her eyes beyond any other thirteen-year-old. "You look worse than I ever did."

Quinn wasn't so sure about that. Few things twisted her stomach the way her reflection had as a child. Even now, it was difficult to look at. It came with different emotions this time, as everything did as an adult. It was much more complicated, much deeper. All the more easy for her to drown.

"You killed me."

"You were weak." Quinn's voice was quiet, her body twitching of its own accord. "I did what I had to for us to be someone."

"YOU KILLED ME!" Lucy screamed, and Quinn had stopped hearing it echo inside her head by the time Lucy's fingers were trailing up her arm, over the old track marks. "You're going to be dead soon, too."

Quinn wanted to hit out but she couldn't. "I'm getting clean."

Lucy surveyed her patronisingly. "Yeah. Sure."

"You'll see."

"If you forget everything else, remember this: you're weaker than I ever was. It's true."

"You're a loser," Quinn said. _That_ was true. She'd been the biggest loser in town and nobody forgot to remind her daily. She wasn't saying it to be hurtful. In a strange way, Quinn had been so afraid of her Lucy secret getting out in high school because she was so fiercely protective of her younger self, almost as if she were a different person entirely. Quinn loved her and nobody could hurt her anymore.

Lucy giggled. "And _Quinn_ is the winner. Look at you, alone on the floor of a _dive_. I have to write a separate journal entry for this one."

Nausea rolled over Quinn relentlessly and she felt her mouth fill with saliva. She swallowed it down and could feel Lucy's loaded gaze on her even with eyes wide shut.

"You're pathetic," Lucy continued. "Maybe we were lonely and the humiliation could have burned us from the inside out some days, but we were never ashamed of who we were. Now look at what you've done. If being _Lucy_ was rock bottom for you, where are you now, Quinn?"

Quinn felt smaller, thicker fingers against her cheek and her eyes opened to give way to the tears running free. Lucy wiped them away and spoke gently.

"You threw away the one person who would love you unconditionally throughout this whole mess. If you hadn't have been so selfish, Beth would be here, supporting you like the dutiful daughter you once were before you got us pregnant at sixteen like some common blonde who didn't know the meaning of the word 'protection'."

"Shut up," Quinn warned. A burst of crimson began to churn with blackness at the mention of her daughter.

"The best thing that ever happened to us would be right here to kiss and hold and you'd never have to wonder how she would feel in your arms every day or the sound of her laughter. You'd never have to cry yourself to sleep on her birthday. You never liked hearing the truth, did you?" Lucy surmised at the expression of uncontained belligerence. "How about seeing it?" She lifted her head higher and turned her head towards the bedroom. "Beth!"

Quinn felt her insides turn to stone with panic. "Don't," she begged.

"Beee-eeeth."

"Lucy, please."

At the sound of her mother's voice, an eighteen-month-old Beth came charging out of Quinn's bedroom, waddling dangerously. Lucy ducked down to hide while Quinn tried to turn away, her eyes scorching as they were filled again. For the first time in hours she felt heat rush through her body. Her face burned and her lips were pushed together tightly, trying to keep the sob inside. She could hear Beth breathing, hidden only by the couch.

Lucy cleared her throat as a hint and then Beth was there, eyes wide in delight. Lucy gasped and jumped up to her knees. "Jelly bean!"

Beth screamed loudly, running forward with her arms outstretched to reach her all the sooner.

There was nowhere to hide. Quinn was made to watch as Beth launched herself into Lucy's willing arms. If she wanted to close her eyes, she couldn't. She couldn't miss a single sound or the way Beth was resting her head on Lucy's shoulder, content for the moment to be held.

Lucy's left arm was supporting her while the right hand rubbed over her small back.

"You've never done this even once, have you?" she asked Quinn quietly after a long moment. "You held her at the hospital, but it wasn't close to your chest like this. You're missing out." If anything, the drunken expression of grief spurred her on. "She feels like a million puppies. Even better than that. I don't know, it's hard to put into words but if you can imagine every tangible moment of happiness we've had or will ever have in life and transform it, it would be her."

Quinn watched Beth lift her head off Lucy's shoulder and the way she moved her tiny body; standing on top of Lucy's legs with her miniature fist curled into the shoulder of a pink sweater, the other reaching for a pair of large glasses like they were calling to her and smiling when Lucy leaned her head back.

"If you take those off, I won't be able to see your pretty face!"

Beth tried for them again and her wrist was caught in Lucy's hand and guided towards her mouth. Lucy gasped long and slow before she pretended to chomp down on Beth's fingers repeatedly. It produced a giggle that made it all the more difficult for Quinn to breathe.

"Or maybe it would just be her hand," Lucy mused, her thumb now locked inside a tiny fist but satisfied to curl her fingers around and shake her daughter's hand. She looked unmoved as Quinn's body jerked on the floor. "You'll never find out. She'll be different now; bigger, older. But you miss her most like this, don't you? Young enough so that she wouldn't be able to ask you any questions but old enough to desire every bit of your love and attention."

"Stop it," Quinn whispered.

"Make me."

"Put her down."

"We may not be her mother anymore, but she's still my daughter. She's perfectly safe with me. You, on the other hand... She would have been better off with me from the start. I wouldn't have made your mistakes. I wouldn't be a danger to her if, God forbid, she ever came looking for you when you were in this state."

Quinn's voice was still quiet but resolute. "I'd never hurt her."

"But you would. She'd turn into you."

"No."

"You might want to open your eyes at some point," Lucy said.

Quinn opened her mouth to respond and promptly closed it when she noticed Beth begin to fuss and whimper, struggling in Lucy's arms where she had been comfortable and content only seconds ago. She managed to turn around and that's when their eyes fixed to each others for the first time in years.

Instead of those dark blue eyes (now on the browner side of hazel, thanks to Puck) sparkling up at her, smiling in a way that pulled at Quinn's every frayed edge until she felt new and whole for the first time in her life, Beth was agitated. Quinn watched her fight out of Lucy's hold entirely, until she was sat on the floor between them.

And then Quinn saw the way Beth's body was shaking all over.

She managed to push the blanket out of the way before she turned over to vomit. The next time she opened her eyes, she was alone. She was alone and still the feeling did not pass.

X

The stillness of night had never sent Quinn's head spinning like this.

Time had never gone so slowly.

She couldn't stand the way she sounded each time she cried or was ill; each gasp or breath locked inside her throat made her feel weak. The music playing sent currents of pain through her head but it wouldn't stop if the music was to, so she didn't turn it off. There was too much pain and noise to focus on to establish what was music and what was her own doing anymore.

She was in the bathroom now, feeling a foot closer to Lucy than she did a couple of hours ago. Quinn wondered if her heart, racing as it was, would stop suddenly or if it would slow to a crawl; weak contractions signalling the inevitable. She didn't care, just as long as the pain wrapped around every single nerve ending stopped soon.

Quinn didn't know if she'd been asleep or had simply been thinking about nothing, but a jerk of her leg disturbed her greatly. It also punched a hole through the fog, bringing forth a moment of clarity. She didn't want to feel like this, but that wasn't the reason she found strength she didn't know she possessed to push herself off the floor and stagger towards the bedroom.

She _couldn't_ feel like this.

The phone felt like ice on her overheated skin and she clutched it tightly, closing her eyes in relief when the dial tone stopped abruptly. "Francis," she said, not giving him chance to greet her. Every part of her was trembling.

"Quinn?"

"I need you. Can I—can I come over?"

"Quinn, what have you done?"

"I tried to stop, but I... Francis, please. I can't."

"I'll come to you."

He was there thirty minutes later and Quinn floated with the kind of peace she could have drowned in.

X

They were at his place the following night.

This time Quinn wasn't such a mess.

Francis had only seen her like that once before and he had no desire to ever again, but the desperation laced in Quinn's voice when he'd answered her call was thrilling. He loved when she realised how much she needed him.

They were on his bed and his finger stroked around a fresh circular puncture to her arm as he watched her, admiring. Her arms were one of his favourite things about her. He touched her thighs next, wandering higher until he'd pushed the hem of her dress up. The passiveness to her face indicated that she was not merely asleep.

"You don't want to be doing that, Francis," a strong voice spoke out from the doorway. It was Jackson.

Francis hadn't been worried at the disruption. His hand settled more firmly, curving inside Quinn's thigh. "You know how much I hate interruptions."

"She's a lady. You don't treat ladies like this."

Francis looked amused. "Ladies have never done the things she's done. Now, don't make me have to ask you to leave."

Jackson looked to Quinn's face. He didn't like to see her so vulnerable. "I'm leavin'," he said. "I'm taking her with me. It's not right, Francis. I won't ignore it, especially with Quinn."

"We're consenting adults, what's so wrong about that?"

"All the same, she don't look in any state to consent tonight."

Francis stared at him and rolled off the bed, gesturing over Quinn's body. There were other women in his house, ones who didn't have a grandpa hanging around them. "She's all yours, old man."

Jackson stood still until he was alone with her. He walked over to the bed and pulled Quinn's dress back down so that she was close to looking modestly covered. "Don't you worry, one day the Lord's going to make him pay in ways we can't imagine," he said as he put his arms under and around her and lifted her into his arms.

He left the house with her and walked far enough that he wouldn't be tempted to go back and let his fists do some talking. Jackson didn't have much of an opinion on Francis unless Quinn was concerned, and then he wanted to do whatever it took to keep her away from him. But there was little he could do with Quinn being an adult and capable of making her own choices, especially when he himself was dependent on what Francis supplied him.

He placed Quinn down on the bench and sat beside her, pulling her into his side. She was still out of it and he thought some fresh air might help so they would stay at the bus stop as long as it took for Quinn to come back to her senses, twice ignoring the judgemental looks from late-night bus drivers.

X

The bar Quinn was in was full but not so packed that she couldn't move for brushing against people. She was drinking at the bar, pleasantly buzzed but not drunk; though it wouldn't take her very much longer if the dryness to her mouth persisted. It'd been dry since the last hit.

She gulped down the remainder of her drink —rum and coke, because she'd had a sweet tooth all day and couldn't stomach chocolate— and wiped the condensation off her fingers onto the napkin. Her phone was buzzing in her pocket again, turning into her seventh missed call in the past few hours. She hadn't answered at first because she wanted to be alone, but by the third call she wasn't answering because she knew who it was and she couldn't bear to deal with what had happened.

But Rachel seemed to be making it a habit to persuade Quinn into doing things she needed to do but wasn't sure she was ready for.

Her eyes lingered on the one drop of caramel liquid clinging to the bottom of her glass and wondered whether to ask for another or just the bottle to save time. Instead, she was accepting the incoming call and sighing, "What?"

Rachel skipped a pleasant greeting too, sounding equally as frustrated. "Where the hell are you? And don't think about lying to me, I already know you're not home."

"Is that your sixth sense talking again, 'cause you know what I think about that."

"I'm in your apartment."

"Breaking and entering, Rachel? That's— oddly interesting. Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"You have your secrets..."

"I thought I aired my dirty laundry the other day."

Rachel was quiet for a second, just enough time to remember the devastating blow that came from discovering Quinn was still using. "Quinn, please, tell me where you are and we can talk. We need to talk."

"We don't need to do anything together."

"If you don't want to tell me where you are, then come home and we can discuss it here."

Quinn signalled the bartender for another drink. "Discuss?" she smiled. "You mean you'll let me get a word in edgeways while you lecture me on something I warned you about in the first place?"

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

"No it's not, and if you'd come back I could explain all of the ways it isn't fair and then we could have a _discussion_ like the adults we're supposed to be."

"Or I could end this call and get back to my night," Quinn said.

"You could do that," Rachel agreed, "but I'll still be here when you get back. You can't avoid this place forever."

"You might want to sit down for this. Are you comfortable? Legs crossed? On occasion, people leave their homes. Sometimes they even go out in order to live their lives. Crazy, right? Who came up with the notion that you can't live a perfectly normal life without ever leaving your home? But here I am, out living mine. You should do the same. Go back to the stage and muster up some of those big tears. You can sing to some fat, four-eyed losers about how everything gets better one day and to never give up the fight because you may be their star, but to you, they're your moon. I'm sure they'll eat it up."

"If you don't tell me where you are, I swear to God—"

"You'll stamp your foot right through my floor?"

"I'm not kidding," Rachel cautioned.

"Me either. Look, if you want to have a drink with me, I might be inclined to tell you which bar I'm in. But if you're going to be irritating and judgemental and all around annoying, I can't be your drinking buddy. I can't be your anything."

"Fine, you're buying the first round."

"You better be quick, I just ordered another. And leave uptight Rachel in the apartment; I've had a good day so far and I don't want to be brought down."

She sent Rachel the address after she'd hung up and it was a mere fifteen minutes later that she waltzed into the bar, leaving Quinn to groan under her breath as Rachel immediately set out looking for her. It was quite obvious that Rachel had never been to that particular bar before —or any like it over in her part of the city— because if she had, she'd know that she would have done herself a big favour by dressing down.

"Are you looking to get mugged?" Quinn asked, heading over to meet her.

Rachel looked relieved to turn and see her. It was short-lived when she saw Quinn's pale complexion, dark bags under her eyes looking even starker than they did two days earlier. "No-one's going to mug me," she dismissed, as if the act itself was absurd. People were already staring. "What are you drinking?" Her step towards the bar was blocked.

"Take it off."

She unbuttoned her coat. "Is there somewhere I can hang it?"

"Yeah, if you never want to see it again."

"You just told me to take it off."

"I meant the bling," Quinn said. "Those rings, the earrings, your two-grand watch."

"It was closer to four grand."

She stared at Rachel blankly. "You're crazier than I am."

"Don't be mean, Quinn."

It wasn't anywhere close to easy to be there with her, especially as she knew what was coming next, but it was that off-handed way about Rachel that always threatened to make Quinn smile. She followed her back to the bar and they sat down. Quinn's drink was half full.

Rachel picked up Quinn's glass and Quinn spoke almost right away.

"What are you doing?"

"Catching up," Rachel said. "Is it safe to do so?"

Quinn's mouth opened but nothing came out for a second, ashamed that it was a question Rachel even had to ask. "Yes. I don't have… I've been tested recently, I'm fine."

The drink was gulped down and then Rachel waved the empty glass in air to grab the bartender's attention. When it was gained, she smiled politely at the overweight man who stepped forward. "She'll have another rum and Coke, and I will accept nothing less than your best vodka to go with my tonic. She's paying," Rachel stated, her elbow against Quinn's.

"What if I wanted something different this time?" Quinn asked once their drinks were being made.

"Then I guess we'll have to stay for another."

She didn't hate the idea, so it wasn't rejected. If she didn't hate Rachel's company by the time they'd both finished their drinks, they'd stay for another. One thing Quinn wanted before more rum was tequila. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tasted any and ordered a shot.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked timidly after a moment.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Quinn confirmed as she handed her money over in exchange for the drinks, feeling Rachel's eyes crawling all over her.

"I missed you."

One of Quinn's eyebrows rose and it took a second for her to be able to look Rachel in the eyes. "Thought you hated me."

"I never said that," Rachel said assertively.

"You didn't have to. I told you: your face never shuts up either, and it did a lot of talking the other day."

Rachel crossed her legs and had a good sip of her drink. "I have no control over my face, but I can tell you that I don't hate you. I'm mad at you, disappointed and hurt because of you, but no, I don't hate you, Quinn."

"Why are you mad at me?"

Her eyes widened a little and she tipped her head forward slightly. "You lied to me."

"When?"

"Almost the whole time."

Quinn shrugged. "I didn't lie to you, Rachel. I was straight with you the entire time. It's not my fault that you were too busy looking the other way. Did you really believe withdrawal would be that pretty?"

"Withholding the truth is the same thing."

"Okay, so do I get to be mad at you for hiring some huge guy to stalk my every move at work? Not that it was ever going to make a difference. I know how to be discreet."

"Dante is harmless. He's like a teddy bear."

"Not the point."

Rachel sighed. "I was scared. I wanted to know that you were doing okay even if I couldn't be there."

"I was okay. Obviously."

"Do I want to know what you've been doing the past couple of days?"

Lucy and Beth flashed through Quinn's mind before anything else. "Probably not."

Rachel swallowed more of her drink and wished she'd ordered a double. "Will you tell me anyway?"

"I got high."

"Isn't that an everyday occurrence?" she asked, wondering why a small smile was hinted at Quinn's mouth.

"Not anymore."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I do whatever it is I do in order to be a normal, functioning person. Getting high like that isn't exactly easy anymore."

"Because your body's used to it?"

Quinn started on her rum. She wanted to make Rachel pay for a drink, too. Might as well make the most out of it. "Yeah."

Rachel was openly staring at her again. "So right now, you're..."

"On my way to being drunk, but yes, also pumped full of— kicks," Quinn finished, when a guy came up to the bar for more peanuts.

"We have to figure this out. You know you can't keep doing this."

She knew it was coming but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "We're not talking about this. I told you I was having a good day."

"But you have to stop. I mean, don't you want that for yourself?"

"Even if I wanted to, it's never going to happen," Quinn whispered loudly.

"Yes, it will. If you want it badly enough. You just have to... buck up."

The mixer was taking too much of the burn away so Quinn switched drinks. She brought the shot glass to her mouth and tipped it upward, emptying it smoothly. "Is this more of your legendary advice?"

"I'm serious." Rachel straightened up. "If you wanna be somebody, if you wanna go somewhere, you better wake up and pay attention."

"Don't quote a Sister Act movie at me."

"Well, I thought it was relevant."

Quinn's eyes flicked down. "I thought you said you accepted me."

"I do. Every part of you."

"You don't. They're just more of those words you like to throw around."

"I mean it, Quinn."

"Then you don't care that I'm like this?"

"Of course I care," Rachel said. "How could I not?"

Quinn swallowed heavily. "I don't— I don't care that you're here anymore, but you have to understand that this is who I am. If you can accept that, truly, then you can be around."

Rachel wondered if this was Quinn asking for her permission, and if it was, she wasn't going to give it. Like Quinn, Rachel had said things in the heat of the moment the other day but that didn't mean she would stop supporting her. She would give Quinn acceptance and point out that acceptance doesn't always grant the silent kind of permission.

"I accept you, I don't accept _that_. There's a big difference."

"Not when it's the same thing. You can't accept one without the other."

She accepted that it was a part of Quinn, not that it was okay for it to be a part of her for the rest of her life. Rachel thought of their parting words from a couple of days ago and winced inwardly. "What I said the other day, I didn't mean it. I was hurt, I lashed out. That's…well, it's one of my main flaws. I've been working on it, but if I'm hurt —really hurt, I retaliate. I'm sorry."

"You meant it," Quinn challenged. "But it's okay."

Rachel took a moment of deliberation and then moved her hand forward on the bar so that her fingers curled around Quinn's. "If I really believed that, why would I be here?"

"Because you're crazy."

"The first time I vowed to help you, I thought you needed this big shock and for me to be cold and tough; unforgiving. So I got rid of your stash and I decided to stay, partly because I was so worried about you and because I knew that you'd hate it, especially if I annoyed the crap out of you. I thought it could be incentive for you to get well, you know, to have me leave when I thought you were doing a little better. But then we spent so much time together, naturally, and I figured out that you don't need me to be that all the time. You need me to be warm and forgiving too, which I've tried to be. I can be one or the other, or maybe a little of both at times, but however I am, Quinn, whatever I do, I do it because—"

"You care. Fine," Quinn concluded, pulling her hand away.

"Yeah, and because I want you to be the best person you can be."

"You have all of these expectations of me..."

"Yes, I do," Rachel confirmed determinedly. "All of your friends do. Everyone has expectations of the people in their life. And I'm sorry but that's just something you're going to have to live with as... as a friend. As somebody who is important to people."

The taste of alcohol was thick on Quinn's tongue and lips and she put her glass back down on the bar with a heavy but small clonk. "You mean live up to."

"Well, I suppose that's up to you."

Quinn hunched over her glass and waved a hand over it. "I see disappointment in your future."

Rachel's eyes rolled towards the ceiling. "Can we just make each other a promise? I promise that I will try to accept all of you; bad parts and all, if you try to do the same; good parts and all. I think you have this idea in your head that just because you do bad things it means that you're a terrible person, but you're not."

"I'm not making any promises."

"Just try. Please."

"What do I get if I do?"

"Everything," Rachel answered simply.

They lapsed into silence and took it as personal cues to finish their drinks. Rachel was trying to determine why the two days apart from Quinn had felt worse than the years they'd spent apart before that. Perhaps it had just been the circumstances on which they'd parted, but she had a feeling that there was not only one answer to the question. She'd cried like a baby for hours after it'd happened but then she'd been so angry that being away from her was really the best option. She'd spent many hours trying to map out where they should go next, all too aware that she felt Quinn's absence physically.

After a while, she decided it was best not to think about it too much when they had more important things to discuss.

Quinn changed the subject and asked if the single was finished yet and Rachel confirmed, happily, that it was and it was amazing. They'd also recorded the video message promoting their music and it had hit the social media websites yesterday, blowing all of them away with the positive feedback and enthusiasm. Quinn wondered how it could have been _that_ successful when half of them weren't even known in the music industry but Rachel explained that it didn't matter as long as they were equally as attractive as they were talented. It was shallow but it was the way it worked. It also didn't hurt that those of them who were known in the industry were well-known. It was a given that a collaboration would be epic.

"I didn't call you to be a part of it because I thought you were serious when you said you didn't want to be involved."

"I was," Quinn said.

"Okay but if you change your mind we can make another video."

She licked her lips and kept her eyes trained on the bottles of liquor lining the bar wall. "Am I still on the single?"

Rachel looked very serious when she replied, "Yes. Absolutely yes. That's not something you have to worry about, okay?"

"Okay."

"And just so you know, you sound _amazing_. We all do."

Quinn was glad Rachel thought so. At least the torture with Carter had been worth it. "Modest as ever."

"I'm simply stating a fact."

"You always did sound..."

That sentence was never completed but Rachel smiled anyway. "Thank you."

"Are you going to get me a drink any time soon?" Quinn asked, realising her glass was empty when she went to take another sip.

"Another?"

Quinn nodded once, very seriously. "But I want beer this time," she declared, watching Rachel's face scrunch up.

"You know I'm paying, right?"

"Beer."

"But there are so many better drinks. I can make a cocktail that will rock your world. Should I ask the bartender if I can go back there and make it for you?"

Quinn highly doubted that Big Bill of _Bill's Boozer_ would allow Rachel to take over his bar but she smiled at the visual, laughing softly by the end of it. She pushed herself up off the stool and said, "Beer," so close to Rachel's ear that she felt soft hair graze her face.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked, turning to find her eyes.

"To powder my nose."

Rachel looked scandalised. "That's not funny."

Quinn must have thought it was because that grin was back on her face. "Relax."

"Do I need to come in there with you?"

"No, thanks."

Rachel watched her head off to the restroom and swivelled back around on the stool to order their next round. The bar was busy and she waited patiently for her turn to be served, wondering if Quinn would drink the cocktail if she ordered her a beer, too. But she was getting ahead of herself; she didn't even know if the man behind the bar would mix her a drink per request.

A woman stood next to her, beside Quinn's seat. Rachel's head turned to see if she'd sat down but she was leaning against the bar, clearly dressed to feel good. Even blind, Rachel didn't think she'd be able to miss the way the woman's ample chest was exposed almost to the point of indecency. She cleared her throat and looked away.

Big Bill eventually made his way to Rachel a couple of minutes later, lifting his chin to her after he'd wiped the bar dry. "What can I get you, hon?"

"Another vodka tonic and a bottle of your finest beer." Rachel leaned forward. "Excuse me, what's your name?"

"It's Bill," he said gruffly. "Big Bill."

"That's lovely," Rachel smiled. "May I make a request, Big Bill?"

"Depends on what you're asking."

"Would you make me a cocktail? You have to follow the recipe _very_ closely. It's my cocktail, actually. I call it 'Roadkill Rachel'," she said with a hand flourish, as if it would persuade a hint of an expression on Bill's blank face. "Do you get it? Because the next morning you wake up and you feel like you were hit by a—"

"This ain't no cocktail bar, lady."

"I—I don't understand. Will you not make me my drink?"

The beer hissed as Bill opened the cap. He set it in front of Rachel and slowly went about mixing her vodka tonic without another word. The exchange of money also happened wordlessly, though Rachel's face had a lot to say.

The woman standing next to her looked amused at the exchange. "That was harsh."

"I know. I was polite, right?"

"Totally," the woman nodded. "I would have said yes."

Rachel smiled and turned to face her properly. She liked her pixie haircut and bright green eyes. "You don't own a bar, do you?"

"I own a lot of things, but I haven't been able to acquire a bar yet. I probably have enough alcohol, it's just the premises I'm missing."

"Just the premises?" Rachel laughed. "Well, don't give up, you're halfway there."

"Right? I just need the bar part of the bar and I'm set."

"For life, if you happen to include my cocktail on the menu. It's a crowd pleaser."

"It's a done deal..."

"Oh." Rachel held out her hand. "Rachel."

"Sarah," the woman said, lingering as she shook her hand gently.

"Well I have to see this bar someday, Sarah. I'm going to have to see how many victims fall prey to a Roadkill Rachel. And I thrive off positive feedback, so..."

"I'd like that."

The only person who wouldn't, apparently, was Quinn. Upon arriving back at the bar she stepped between them and kept her back to Rachel, staring at Sarah furiously. "Are you stupid?" she asked bitingly.

Sarah backed up, hands raised. "I was just making conversation; no need to get territorial on me."

"I saw you."

"Keep your pants on, it was just banter."

Rachel wasn't sure what was happening but she didn't have a good feeling about it, so her hand found its way to Quinn's waist to try to win her attention. "Quinn? Please don't be rude. I have your drink here. Why don't we find a table that Big Bill can clean thoroughly for us?"

It fell on deaf ears.

Sarah tried to catch Rachel's eyes. "It was nice talking to you."

Quinn's hand settled upon Sarah's arm when she attempted to walk away, holding her in place. "Give them back," she demanded, feeling her temper rising when she saw a charismatic smile and brighter eyes.

"Tell me you're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm cracking a joke?"

Sarah pulled her arm out of the tight hold and, unafraid, leaned in close to the mask of rage. "I don't know what you're tripping over, but you're going to keep your hands off me unless you want me to break that pretty face of yours."

"Quinn," Rachel warned.

Quinn's eyes were closed when Sarah turned to leave. She could feel her heart racing. After only seconds, she turned and grabbed her beer from the bar and smashed it against its edge, ignoring the way Rachel whirled around and held her arm up to shield herself

Rachel saw it happen; heard the crack and shatter of glass as she twisted away from it, and it still didn't feel like it was happening. It couldn't be. But one glance up confirmed that it was. Her mouth hung open and she watched as Quinn strode forward and forced Sarah to the floor, holding the ragged edge of the bottle to her throat.

_I glassed a girl the last time I felt like this._

Dread spiked through her. She jumped up from her stool and rushed forward.

"Quinn, what are you doing?" she shrieked. "Stop it!"

"Give them back, _now_."

Sarah's chest heaved underneath Quinn. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Have you lost your mind?" Rachel yelled.

It was enough of a distraction for Quinn's eyes to wander up to her a second longer than they should have, because in the blink of an eye she was the one being topped, bottle against her neck. Rachel's eyes widened. A slight sting let Quinn know that the glass had sliced through her skin. It happened quickly; feeling the sting, hearing the bottle smash somewhere on the floor away from them, and the first strike to her face. It made her head rebound off the floor with the kind of crack that told her she'd be feeling that tomorrow.

Quinn heard Rachel's outraged cry and then she was holding her hands up, protecting her face from another blow reigning down. Sarah raised another tight fist and Quinn used the opportunity to latch on to her forearms, using her legs and weight to twist her back underneath. She didn't lash out to her face; instead one of Quinn's hands pushed its way into a front pocket of Sarah's jeans.

Rachel watched Sarah grab on to the back of Quinn's head and lean up, tipping her head back in preparation. But before Sarah's head made any contact whatsoever with Quinn's, Rachel's arms were around her, dragging her away.

Quinn breathed heavy in Rachel's arms, glowering down at the woman on the floor. She considered pushing free until a large hand was upon her back, twisted into a fist as she was pushed towards the exit.

Rachel couldn't fight against the arm that had forced between them to lead Quinn away. She rushed to pick up their things from the bar and dashed after her in time to see Big Bill shove her out onto the sidewalk and tell her to get gone unless she wanted him to call the cops. Rachel wanted to help Quinn up but her body didn't move. All she could do was keep her mouth shut until Bill disappeared back in the bar.

"What is _wrong_ with you? You're acting like a total freak. You could have killed her!"

Rachel looked at her like she was trying to figure out who she was, because this violent person was a stranger. She grew more annoyed with the silence and resentment shining back at her as Quinn got to her feet.

Rachel backed away when Quinn stepped towards her, unsure.

She thought she watched Quinn's face contort, eyebrows knitting together, but she blinked and it had gone. Now Quinn looked cool and detached. Rachel couldn't look away from her face when Quinn's hand reached out and firmly grasped her wrist, turning it over to exchange the contents into her hand.

When Rachel did manage to tear her eyes away, she glanced down at her Tiffany's ring she'd brought with her first large pay check and the ring her parents had given her as a graduation gift. They were her most valuable possessions in terms of sentimentality and she didn't even realise they had been stolen. She inhaled deeply in preparation for long-winded apology she knew was owed and looked up. "Quinn, I'm—"

Rachel was alone.

X

The big secret to getting into Quinn's apartment earlier had not been breaking and entering but rather using the copy of Quinn's key that she'd had made before giving the original back.

Rachel closed the door and put her purse and keys on the kitchen table. The living area was empty but she could see light casted off the wall in front of Quinn's bedroom so she busied herself in the kitchen, filling a glass of water and rooting through her bag for some painkillers because she'd thrown Quinn's away. It was naïve, and definitely the second-best option compared to what pain relief Quinn was used to, but it was Rachel's way of trying to help. It was the only way she really knew how.

Quinn was quiet, looking despondent as she lay on top of the bed when Rachel walked in; somehow unsurprised that she was there.

"Can I sit down?" Rachel asked after a moment, setting the water down.

Quinn moved her jacket off the bed and shifted over just slightly, leaving enough room for her to sit down. She closed her eyes when Rachel gently touched around the swollen bump under her cheekbone and the angry yet small cut to her neck.

"Do they hurt?"

"Not anymore."

Rachel didn't say anything but she knew what Quinn had done. The drawer with the tourniquet was only half closed. She felt an unpleasant sensation grip her throat and she swallowed in an attempt to soothe it. It didn't help.

"I should have listened to you when you told me I'd get mugged," Rachel admitted softly. "I'm sorry."

Quinn's eyes opened and she felt her skin tickle when tears slid down over it, creeping into her hair. "I feel like I'm sinking and floating, Rach," she admitted. "You know what I mean?"

Rachel nodded, composing herself. "I'm not about to let you drown."

"That a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

Rachel's hand was still on her cheek. Quinn's hand came to rest on top of it. "I know you've always wanted to, but you can't save everyone."

"Well, I don't care about anybody else. I care about you."

"You cared about anyone but me for the past six years."

That was wildly untrue and hurtful considering they'd both played an equal part in their separation. "I'm here now," Rachel said, "and so are you. Neither of us is going anywhere."

"I'm going to die, Rachel. It's going to kill me." The pressure against Quinn's face increased when Rachel shook her head. "Does it help, holding on tighter? Does it make you feel better?"

Quinn's soft, curious question pulverised Rachel's insides. She was crying freely. "Quinn."

"You can hold me, if you want." Quinn's thumb rubbed the back of Rachel's hand as she turned on her side. "Come on. I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Rachel's body gently fit against Quinn's, holding her from behind. She thought the closeness would help. She thought it would make her feel something better. When Rachel cried harder, Quinn lifted her hand to her mouth and kissed her palm. "Thank you, for trying. It's more than I deserve."

"You can thank me when you're better."

"You should be thanking me. All the songwriting inspiration I'm giving you? I should have been charging you from the beginning."

"You're going to hate me for this tomorrow."

"It's a good thing it's not tomorrow yet," Quinn said. "You never learned to stop looking to the future and appreciate the present, did you?"

"Did you? Is this you appreciating the present, getting out of your mind on drugs so that you're not mentally present for any of it?"

It was strange to feel Rachel's body heat but it wasn't an unwelcome sensation. "Don't start preaching your sunny life perspective on me. You got the golden ticket, don't forget."

"Have you ever tried to stop?"

"What does it matter?"

"Have you?" Rachel persisted.

"Yeah, I've tried."

"When?"

"I don't know. Those two times."

"You can do it again."

"Easy as that, is it?"

"No, of course not. I know it will be hard."

"Have you ever tried to come off heroin, Rachel? Any drug? Do you think it's like quitting coffee? It feels like every bone in your body is breaking over and over again. Every single nerve and muscle in your body _screams_ at you. The ringing in your ears that threatens to send you deaf is like a blessing compared to when your head feels like it's splitting open. Then there's the screaming and crying and vomiting and being so physically ill that it's almost unheard of, and then you get to do it all over again, only it gets worse."

"But then the pain stops," Rachel said. "Eventually. And you'll be clean."

"Eventually." Quinn started to smile. "Do you know how long 'eventually' feels like when you're in withdrawal?"

"You're a strong person, Quinn. You don't even give yourself any credit."

"You're so untouched. It's almost sweet."

"Why won't you let me help you?"

"Because being strong has nothing to do with it. Do you think it's just a matter of will? If it was, there wouldn't be half as many users out there."

"I think that's an excuse."

"It's possession," Quinn said. "I'm possessed, just like all the others."

"You can break free of all that."

"I tried. The first time I got two days before I just couldn't anymore. I wanted to die or kill someone to get another fix."

"How did you get one?"

"Francis."

"You know I hate him, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Quinn was holding Rachel's arm against her, slowly stroking the back of her wrist.

"He's such a creep. You made it sound like Dante was scary..." Rachel wondered if any of Quinn's so-called friends were anything like Francis. She wondered if Quinn ever felt safe around them. "Do the other people you hang out with and, you know, use, do any of them make you feel safe?"

She didn't say it right away, but when she did her voice was quiet, careful not to disrupt the calm settling over her. "There are some that scare me so much that I take the hit just to stop feeling anything."

"How do you feel now?"

"Tired."

Rachel smiled faintly. "Yeah, it's late. I should probably go soon."

"Cold."

Rachel pressed closer. "Do you want me to stay?"

"It's up to you." Quinn took the fact that Rachel was still against her as confirmation that she'd have a house guest for the night. Her eyes felt better closed. "There's a spare toothbrush and stuff in the bathroom, and there's—"

"I'm going to stay up for a little while," Rachel cut in softly. "Don't worry about me."

"I'll make you breakfast," Quinn promised when everything had gone still.

"Okay."

"I only have cereal."

"Perfect."

As they lay there, Rachel was again reminded of all the nights as a child when she would stare out of the window at the moon, captivated by it, trying to see if it had more than the one face everybody saw.


	8. Read All About It

Rachel stayed awake with Quinn for hours. The only time she left her was to use the bathroom and grab the blanket she'd used when she stayed before. Her body was warm where she'd been pressed against Quinn but half of it was the uncomfortable sort of cool where it began to disjoint her thoughts. So, not wanting to wake Quinn and tell her to get under the covers, she'd made sure the blanket covered both of them. She couldn't help but notice it'd been washed. It smelled like Quinn again. It was nice, comforting.

As considerate as Rachel tried to be, Quinn ended up waking half a dozen times.

Rachel thought it was unrelated to anything she'd done herself because sometimes she wouldn't move at all; her arm and hand would be still against Quinn, lost in thought, and she'd hear the even breaths change or feel the way Quinn's body was twitchy like she'd woken from a bad dream or something like that.

The only time Rachel felt there was any need to make a sound was the first time Quinn woke with a slow intake of breath, stiffening when she felt a warm body in bed next to her. "It's me," she'd said quietly, her fingers skating lazily over Quinn's hand.

Maybe Quinn woke so many times because of impatience; checking if she was alone yet, or maybe it was normal for her sleep to be disturbed. Either way, Rachel would have bet a lot of money on the fact that Quinn's mood the next day would be sour and full of regret. But if Quinn felt that way, there had been no outward signs to pick up on.

Rachel had woken to a bright bedroom and an empty bed.

It wasn't much later than she'd usually wake up but it'd taken an extra couple of minutes to shake sleep's hold. As promised, Quinn was at the kitchen table with two bowls of cereal, looking out of the window as she held a mug of tea with both hands. She didn't notice Rachel right away, so she missed the way her eyes lingered, admiring in the way that can only be done properly when a person is unaware.

And Rachel thought that word was terribly fitting for a girl like Quinn Fabray.

She was spotted eventually, though.

"Sleepyhead."

"It's not _that_ late."

Quinn's eyes followed Rachel all the way to the table, until she was sat opposite. "No, the hair," she said, looking mildly pleased with herself when Rachel pouted unhappily and brought a hand up to tame her hair.

"How's your head?" Rachel asked.

"Still attached."

There was no longer a swollen lump to Quinn's face, not even a mark, but it had hit the floor in a way that Rachel winced to think about. "How is your head?" she asked again, patiently.

"My _head_ is just fine; however, the egg attached to the back of it is mildly discomforting whenever I apply pressure."

"Have you taken anything?"

It was a loaded question and for a moment Quinn was unsure how to respond.

"Of the legal substance variety?" Rachel clarified afterwards.

"Yes."

"Which question was that answer for?"

"You know which one," Quinn said softly, pinching some dry cereal between her thumb and two of her fingers, pulling them up to her mouth.

Rachel looked at her like she was begging her not to do it ever again. It wouldn't make a difference if she was to say it out loud, not if the past few weeks had been any indication, but she said it anyway. "I wish you wouldn't."

"I only have my milk in, so we're stuck with dry cereal."

The deflection was classic but Rachel went with it. She looked down to the bowl of cereal in front of her, then at Quinn's. "You can use your milk; I'm not going to give you a lecture."

"It's okay."

"I haven't had cereal like this since I was a kid."

"Me either."

"I wish they still had toys in the box."

"Is this from Rachel Berry: The Adult Years?" Quinn asked, prompting a smile.

"I can be a mature, responsible adult and still want toys in my cereal, Quinn."

"You can be a mature, responsible adult and still want _toys_ ; I'm just not sure they're supposed to be in cereal."

Rachel was so surprised that something like that had come out of Quinn's mouth that her laugh didn't even make it out right away. She stared at her, mouth agape for a second. "Wow," she chuckled. "And —no. Can you imagine the complaints from angry soccer moms?"

"I'd work the hotline for free," Quinn said.

"I would, too." Rachel gasped. "We could be desk neighbours."

"Sounds like fun."

Rachel got partway through visualising _that_ particular day at work because yes, it did sound like fun, and she wondered when the last time was that Quinn had laughed the way she had in her daydream.

Admittedly, having Quinn at the studio brought complications for the group but it felt right that she was there. They felt whole. Much like in school, their problems melted away when they sang together. That hadn't happened with Quinn there yet and Rachel wasn't sure why hadn't burst into song one evening when they were all together but it was something she would rectify immediately. She just had to get her back there, if Quinn felt comfortable enough.

Rachel ate some of her cereal and blew against the steaming surface of her tea when Quinn set a fresh mug in front of her. "Speaking of work, what's happening?" She didn't know if Quinn would quit the diner or the record, but considering how the other day had plummeted like a lead balloon she figured she and her friends would have their work cut out for them to convince Quinn to come back.

"My job isn't going to stay open if I run off with you every day for the next month and a half to make an album."

"So..."

"So, there's going to be a balance."

"You're not going to quit?" Rachel asked.

"The diner? No. Why would I throw away a job for the sake of one record that a dozen people are singing on?"

"You still don't get how big this could be for us, do you?" They had universal appeal and were bursting with talent. She wished Quinn could see the potential, but at least it didn't sound like continuing with the record was out of the question. "Are you coming back?"

"I signed a dotted line," Quinn said evenly. "And we did shake on it."

"When's your next day off?"

"Today."

"Will you come to the studio with me later, around two o'clock? Only Finn, Sam, and Tina will be there at that time, until around four or so when everyone else is due. We're rehearsing a group number and I'd like some of us who haven't recorded together to do so. Studio playback is really important, especially as a group. It can really highlight—"

"I liked things as they were."

"I know but trust me, singing and recording with someone is such a rewarding experience. I'm really proud of my solo work and recording it was amazing, but to have someone standing there singing with you? Quinn, it's really cool. The energy is through the roof."

"I need more work," Quinn sighed. "I don't really want to sing with anybody until I'm better."

Rachel put her tea down. "I told you, you sound amazing."

"But my voice wasn't live, it was probably patched up."

"Sing with me now."

Quinn saw Rachel sit up straighter. "Over breakfast? No."

"Later, then. We can warm our voices up and sing over dinner. You're coming over to my place, by the way."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Seven o'clock."

"And when did you decide that?"

"Last night," Rachel said, not missing the way Quinn swallowed and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth at the mention of it. "You made me breakfast, I'm making you dinner."

"I poured cereal into a bowl."

"Saving me a job."

It was clear that this wasn't going to be dropped. "You don't have to," Quinn replied, shaking her head.

"I want to. And I want you to come over, so, will you?"

"Seven?" Rachel nodded curtly at that, so Quinn pretended to think about it. "Yeah, I guess so." She wasn't sure how to feel about last night but she knew that she'd been surprised to wake up and find Rachel sleeping next to her. Rachel was still there even after everything that'd happened. She still cared, even after finding out that Quinn was a monster.

"We can talk then, okay?"

"About what?"

"Everything. It's time, don't you think?"

Rachel's voice was calm and maybe that's why Quinn wasn't panicking as much as she used to. Or perhaps something bigger had changed with them last night and she didn't want to deny Rachel that when she'd followed her home after losing control. Maybe if she was softer to Rachel then she wouldn't be on the receiving end of a terrified look.

"I don't know about everything."

"But you'll tell me some things?"

Quinn struggled for an appropriate response, and in the end she said, "I just think that anything I have to say about that isn't worth saying, not really."

"What makes you think that?"

"I just know," she stated. "I mean, you want to know, I know that. I'm pretty sure you'd resort to begging if you had to, but you don't know what you're asking of me and you definitely don't want to hear it."

"And if I tell you I know exactly what I'm doing?" Rachel asked gently.

Quinn began to think of all the ways that could go wrong and it showed on her face. "You can't say you want to know these things and then judge me or hate me when I tell you. You have to mean it, Rachel."

"I mean it. I've always meant it."

"I think maybe it's...safer here," Quinn said, not backing out but reconsidering the terms of agreement. It definitely wasn't safe, but the other option terrified her for different reasons. "You can come over. But you have to promise me you won't answer the door if anyone knocks, and if I tell you to go to my bedroom until they leave you can't ask questions or be stubborn, you have to trust me."

"No, I want you in my home. I want you to see it and just...forget about this place for one night."

Quinn still wasn't sold. "What will all your rich, snotty neighbours think when they see me when I'm not dressed in designer clothes and makeup? It's not going to be a photoshopped picture in some magazine or online."

"Who cares?"

"People will talk, Rachel. Even if it's just once."

"So, they can talk. I don't care," Rachel said.

"You can't have press linking you to me outside of the album."

"You're my friend first, okay?"

"But what if someone's mean and you Hulk out? How's that going to look?"

Rachel's brows lifted and then stayed there for a minute. "First of all, I didn't tear out of my clothes with rage, it was a simple slap. Second of all, that asshole was asking for it. And third of all, reporters don't swarm my apartment building. Odds are it's going to be fine."

"And if it's not?"

"Then... then they're going have a pretty big hike ahead of them," Rachel said resolutely. "I don't care about the media right now, Quinn. On my list of priorities, it ranks pretty low. But as for you and reporters, or mean people in general— I think maybe learning to be deaf around them is a good idea."

"Because of last night?" Quinn saw it happen again and frowned. Rachel had been smiling at Sarah, oblivious that she was robbing her; oblivious that Sarah was taking advantage of her kindness. "That asshole was asking for it."

Rachel smiled a little at the choice of words but the way Quinn acted last night, despite the reason, was nothing to smile about. It was serious. "Maybe she was asking for something, but it wasn't what happened. You know I appreciate what you did—and thank you again— but you put yourself and another person in a really dangerous situation without needing to."

"Like I was going to do nothing while that bitch got away scot-free."

"All the same, you can't fly at paparazzi with a bottle and not expect serious consequences."

"What if it's plastic?"

"Quinn, please, be serious? I can handle the press; the question is, can you?"

"I guess we're going to find out sooner or later."

X

Quinn considered going to the studio until Jackson called and asked if she was free, then it was out of the question.

Rachel spent the morning with her and walked with Quinn to pick up her pay check from work. From there, Quinn went to kill some time before seeing Jackson and Rachel left to meet Finn for lunch before they went to the studio. Quinn had been invited but even without having made plans with Jackson, she didn't know how to say yes, so she said no. She didn't care either way about seeing Finn. He felt harmless. She had fond and bitter memories of her time with him in the past but so far in the present he hadn't done anything to make her against seeing him, per se. He hadn't been one of her old friends making her feel like trash the other day. He was just there, taking everything in like she was; like they both couldn't believe they were asked to even be involved with the album in the first place.

She'd said no, but Quinn had turned back to watch Rachel walk away and couldn't help but remember the way Rachel felt in sleep. She couldn't help but think how strange it was that out all of the people in the city, all those millions of people, and she'd ended up in bed with Rachel Berry. Quinn didn't remember ever being so comfortable sleeping with anybody all night before; just lying there together in the dark.

She thought about it until Jackson was opening the door to her. They spent a few hours together and Quinn knew exactly where to go to find one of his pipes. She packed the bowl to make sure it was done the way she liked it and they talked in between hits. Quinn only wanted to feel centred. She didn't use enough to hallucinate like the last time (Jackson had assured her that he didn't have a pet lion but then _why_ was one prowling around the apartment?)

She burned the side of her thumb on a lighter.

The pain wasn't really present in her mind; the same way her fingers moved through her hair to prod against her scalp didn't make her hiss anymore. She pushed the pad of her middle finger hard against the tip of her thumb and dragged down. Its sting was faint. For now.

X

Everybody knew what happened in the alley with Quinn and Rachel.

It was obvious to them that something had happened when Rachel didn't show up early to rehearse. When she did, there were only seconds until Santana asked what Quinn had done and it escalated from there. Kurt was the first one to go over and comfort her. He held her hand and rubbed her back.

"We'll help her," he'd promised.

Excluding Puck and Santana, who'd possibly looked angrier with Quinn than ever, the whole group promised; even Finn.

Finn even made Quinn the main topic of conversation over lunch and didn't once sound like he was judging her. He just wanted to know. Of course, Rachel couldn't answer all of his questions when she was still trying to get Quinn to trust her enough to open up about it all, but she knew enough to be confident in telling him that the Quinn they used to know was still buried in there somewhere.

Rachel also asked about Carole.

She was usually up to date with how Carole and Burt were doing but things had been sketchy with Kurt for a few weeks, and though they were slowly finding their feet again, they still hadn't gotten around to talking about each other's parents.

Having lunch with Finn was fun. Simple. None of the potential awkwardness at being alone together was present. They were together their entire senior year, just like they'd agreed in the library after Nationals in New York, and they'd parted on good terms the day they'd graduated from high school. That wasn't to say neither of them were upset about it; they were. Rachel had cried and Finn pretended he had allergies for the first time in his life. But it was the best thing for them. They never would have worked long-term. They'd always wanted opposite things from life.

It was nice hearing about his life and seeing how happy he was living in Indiana.

Rachel was pulling out cash for her half of the bill when Finn threw out an idea for helping the group actually be a _group_ again, away from pressures of business. She thought it was brilliant, and thus a plan was made.

X

It turned out that the envelope containing all of Rachel's contact information was still in the apartment. Quinn found it when she was rooting through a pile of mail and magazines that were only there because Rachel had brought them on one of their outings to the store.

She could have called to ask for the address but Quinn was reluctant to talk to Rachel on the phone when there were no distractions to get caught up in. Her apartment was quiet like the middle of the night even though it was only early evening, and it felt empty like she'd moved all the furniture out to decorate. She thought listening to someone's voice —really listening, no distraction in range— was kind of personal. Everything relied on the way her voice came out and which words she chose. Rachel wouldn't be able to look at her face and be able to tell what she meant by the expression on it. Or maybe Quinn was over thinking things. She was never really sure what was going on in her head and how to stop the spinning and untangle knots of thoughts until they were smooth. It was almost always a jumble.

Almost.

Now that she knew where she was going Quinn decided to take another shower and find something to wear that would cause fewer people to wonder what on earth a person like her was doing with a person like Rachel.

X

Rachel had only just finishing making herself look presentable when there was a knock at the door. She walked from her bedroom still trying to put the other earring in, only just managing to before there was another knock.

She picked up her purse and opened the door, expecting it to be the food delivery service she'd used to cater the night's food. Rachel certainly would have cooked if she'd had time but she hadn't had a moment to spare since rushing from the studio and jumping in the shower.

It was Tony.

"I thought you were dinner," she said, still holding the money.

"Dessert, babe." Tony smirked at the way she looked up at him over her long eyelashes, dangerously close to giving him a smile. He walked past her and over to the small pile of DVDs next to the TV. "I knew you still had it! I was looking for this all day."

"You left it there, not me."

Tony found himself distracted with the effort Rachel had made. She was always beautiful, but after the way she'd looked under so much stress lately it was nice to see her a little dolled up. Rachel didn't dress up like that unless she felt good, which meant she was at least feeling better. And that's all Tony wanted.

"Who are you all dressed up for?"

Rachel looked up from her watch. The tip for the delivery company was dwindling with every minute. Not that they were late yet (they still had thirty minutes), she just wanted everything perfect. "What?"

"I know it's not me; you weren't even expecting me."

Rachel sighed overdramatically. "I don't dress to please other people, Tony, you know that. I slept in my clothes last night and I needed to feel like a real person tonight, so I picked something a little nicer than what I'd usually wear around the house."

"And you're staying in, looking like that, and ordering take-out?"

"That's a fairly accurate summary."

"But I'm missing something," he said. "Obviously, I mean, you're actually home."

"Last night was the first night in over a week that I've stayed out," Rachel pointed out.

"Is it your sick friend? Is she coming over?"

There was no point lying, so she confirmed his suspicions and then said, "No offense or anything but could you hurry up and leave?"

"Oh, no, sure, why would I be offended by that?"

Her lips hinted with a smile. "It's not you, it's me?"

He laughed. "Only because I already have plans tonight or I would stay and bug you. Just be careful, yeah? This mysterious old friend better appreciate all the time you're giving to her. She's lucky."

"She does, and yes, she is."

"What's wrong with her?"

Rachel bristled at his question. "Quinn is going to be here any minute. Would you like showing up somewhere and overhearing people talk about you?"

Tony shrugged. "Can I at least know if it's contagious? You've spent a lot of time with her, and we've been...close recently. If there's any chance I could get sick, you should tell me."

"You're perfectly safe, Tony. I'd never put you in danger."

"Okay," he nodded.

"Okay," Rachel echoed. She stared at him for a few seconds, not understanding why he was still stood in the same place. "Please leave."

Tony pretended to think. "Like, _right now_ , or can I stay for a drink?"

Rachel marched over to him and pushed him forwards toward the door. "Now." She laughed when he resisted and they ended up tangled together, looking like a panther and a kitten about to wrestle when Rachel screamed, "Don't you dare drop me, Tony!" after being dipped and suspended in the air. She didn't trust him not to at least pretend to drop her. Rachel was still in his arms with her head tipped back when she noticed someone standing in the doorway holding a bottle of wine. She felt her face heat. "Quinn."

Tony looked up as Rachel squirmed out of his arms, wanting to see for himself who had her attention as of late. Quinn was beautiful, but very obviously sick. She was pale and didn't look comfortable being so thin. It looked uncomfortable. Then again, he had no right to judge anybody else's body; especially if they were unwell.

"Come in," Rachel rushed out eagerly.

Quinn glanced at Tony uncomfortably and walked inside. "Hey."

Rachel's voice went softer and it didn't go unnoticed. "Hi." She looked Quinn over, appreciating that she'd changed since this morning. Instead of jeans, she was in a dress. "That's a great dress," she commented. Rachel thought the leather jacket was a wonderful touch but her apartment was fairly hot. "And you can hang that jacket wherever you want."

Quinn lifted her arm and Rachel took the bottle of wine from her with a small thanks. She didn't know Tony was going to be there or she would have found a reason to be late. He was attractive. Tall; probably six-two and his body looked firm and solid. His cheekbones were something to envy, along with the dark eyelashes. Everything about him was impressive but Quinn didn't dwell on it and it didn't stop her from stripping the jacket and putting it on the hook next to Rachel's, pretending he wasn't there. She blinked, or so it seemed, and Tony was in front of her with an extended hand, unable to ignore.

"Hey, I'm Antonio."

"Quinn." She could feel Rachel looking at her but she couldn't bring herself to shake his hand. Her fingers swiped some hair out of her eyes instead. That's when she saw Tony's eyes drift down to her arms.

His friendly demeanour was switched off instantly.

"I'll call you, Tony," Rachel said, not being very subtle that she still wanted him gone.

"I think I'll stay."

"Uh—no, I thought you were leaving?"

"I changed my mind," he shrugged. There was no way he was leaving Rachel alone with a junkie. Sick? Yeah, the self-inflicted kind. He had no sympathy.

Rachel smiled pleasantly at Quinn as she passed. "Make yourself at home, I just have— a thing I need to..."

She latched on to Tony's arm and pulled him into her bedroom, closing the door behind. She looked at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

The muscles in his jaw were prominent as he gritted his teeth. He didn't understand how she could associate with someone like Quinn when Rachel knew how much he and his family had suffered with his brother being an addict.

"Me? What the hell are you doing? She's a junkie, Rachel."

"Shhh!"

"Why?" he asked, still loud.

"Because she's my friend and she is a guest in my home. I don't want you to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable or unwelcome here."

"You have no idea what you're doing getting involved with her."

"I'm not _involved_ , she's just—my _friend_. She needs me."

"She needs professional help," Tony stated frankly.

Rachel frowned up at him. "Quinn needs a lot of things, but right now, yes, she does need me. She needs friends. She needs family."

Tony could feel his heart beating. "My brother had friends, Rachel. He had friends and family who loved him and he still lied and stole and ended up six feet under."

A hard look passed over Rachel's face. "Get out."

"Don't get sucked in! Nothing you do is going to change who she is. She has to want it, and she's always going to want the drugs more. As for trusting her enough to invite her here, just know that she will do anything for a fix, including steal from you."

"You don't know her."

"Sure I do."

"You don't know _anything_ about her, Tony. And really, go. Get out. I can't even look at you right now."

He closed the door when Rachel opened it. "How could you keep something like this from me? Every time I asked you what was wrong and you didn't tell me. You should have told me, Rachel. I have experience with this. I can help you."

"Because I knew the first thing you'd do is tell me that I'm wasting my time," Rachel said, still facing the door instead of him. "I know what happened with your brother, but that's the worst case scenario. That's not how every story ends. This will be different."

"You're going to get hurt."

She ripped the bedroom door open and headed straight for the front door, holding that open for him, too. He left wordlessly and Rachel glared after him after he'd gone.

Quinn had poured them each a glass of wine and was deciding against asking if Rachel was all right. Tony's voice carried so she got the gist of the conversation and the reason why Rachel had thrown him out. Quinn was just grateful she hadn't had to spend the night with him. Not that she disagreed with his opinion as such, but he'd clearly ruffled Rachel.

It was unlikely there would be any singing tonight.

There was a tangible thickness to the atmosphere now that Tony had left. Not enough to make her uncomfortable but enough to pick up on and have to pretend it wasn't there. Maybe if Rachel wouldn't listen to her, she'd listen to him. And maybe once when Quinn had been desperate she'd relied heavily on a memory of Rachel telling her that she could be _more_ , but it had been a silly fantasy. She'd clung to that and believed it for a little while but then Lucy came and brought her back down to earth. Who was she kidding? She'd never be able to break free.

Quinn looked around a little.

Rachel's apartment was exactly like hers. If hers was bigger and modern but not clinical and the rent was at least quadrupled, that is.

There was not a thing out of place as far as she could tell, which made her wonder if Rachel regularly took extra care to keep the place looking spotless or if it was merely because a friend was coming over for the first time. Rachel was a good guest in Quinn's apartment; neat and tidy to the point where it got annoying sometimes, but it is always different when you're staying in somebody else's home. Quinn figured her to be a little less obsessive with her own apartment.

She wanted to know but she didn't want to ask, so she did a little experiment by picking up a perfectly folded dish towel and opening it, leaving it in a lump on the counter top.

Quinn picked up their drinks and made her way to the living area. She was comfortably seated when Rachel finally had her show face back on and joined her. Their fingers touched when she passed her a glass of wine. As far as she could tell, Rachel's hands were always warm.

"You didn't have to bring anything."

"You're welcome," Quinn said dryly.

Rachel smiled over the rim of the glass and enjoyed the sharpness to the wine as she swallowed a polite mouthful. "Thank you."

"So, that was Tony."

"Yeah."

"You don't live together?"

Rachel wasn't too willing to discuss him after what he'd said, but she did want to clear one thing up. "He's not my boyfriend."

Quinn's eyes flicked down to her drink and brought it up to her lips. "So he is gay."

"No!" Rachel grinned. "He's my— he's not my best friend, Kurt was cast for that role, but he's a friend. A good friend. Sometimes when we're both single, we have... an arrangement. I know his history and he knows mine, and we just... we're sexually compatible, so why not?"

Quinn inclined her head slightly to the side. "There are only so many good friends you can be _sexually compatible_ with."

"There are no romantic feelings involved. I actually think he's on a date tonight."

"You don't have to explain. It's your business."

"I know, I just don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not... loose."

Quinn started to smile at that. "Your image has not been tarnished. This isn't the fifties. Sleep with whoever you want, as long as you're safe."

"I'm always safe."

Rachel was looking at her every time Quinn looked her way over the next half a minute or so. "Dinner smells good," she said abruptly, having noticed that nothing was being cooked in the kitchen.

"I did not forget to cook," Rachel promised. "I was running late and I decided to order in. I hope that's okay?"

"You said you were making me dinner."

She should have known Quinn would rib her about this. "You're going to have to come back another night. Maybe one of the days you finish work at a reasonable hour, come over. I'll cook then."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know, you lured me over here with promises of your cooking in the first place."

"You don't even _like_ my cooking," Rachel accused lightly.

"When did I say that?"

"Every time you've left half the dinner I made for us."

"I get full easily, that doesn't mean I don't like what I'm eating. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't touch it."

"I'm choosing to believe you."

They talked for a while. Rachel had to prompt the few topics of conversation but she didn't mind seeing as Quinn gave her real responses. She found out that while she was having lunch with Finn, Quinn was spending the afternoon with a friend. Rachel hadn't heard her refer to anyone as that before, so naturally her curiosity was higher than the clouds.

His name was Jackson and he made Quinn feel safe and accepted.

Rachel thought it would be extremely difficult to dislike this Jackson fellow after hearing that, but then she heard that he was an addict, too.

It was easy to separate him and Tony's brother from Quinn. Maybe too easy.

She didn't even think twice to giving Quinn the money for their dinner when there was a knock at the door.

Quinn looked down to the bills in her hand as she walked over to the door. Either Rachel had ordered enough food to feed the five thousand, or she was giving a very generous tip. It was obvious from the moment she'd seen her standing outside of her apartment after six years that money was not an issue for Rachel anymore, but it still felt strange to her to hold so much money that was being spent on one meal.

The delivery guy thanked her for the tip before wishing her to enjoy the food. It smelled good already, so she thought she might.

By the time she got to the kitchen, Rachel had filled two water glasses and the towel was still in a heap on the counter.

They ate together at the dining table and were comfortable enough not to fill every moment of silence, but did at least try to have a conversation other than Rachel asking Quinn if the food was okay when she'd begun to slow down after eating a little under half of it (it was; Quinn was just full). Quinn asked how Finn was, and then if his mother was okay these days.

Quinn still felt a pang of regret whenever she'd think of her. Carole had been so nice to her when own father had thrown her out of the house. Of course, that would have been a great comfort to Quinn at the time had she not been lying about the baby's paternity.

It was nice to hear that Carole was doing well and that she'd even asked about her.

"So, I've been curious," Rachel opened with, chasing a bite of her dinner with some water. "How are the Skanks? It feels weird calling them that after all these years," she smiled. "I just meant, you spent a lot of time with them senior year, you seemed close, but I haven't seen any of them around and you haven't talked about them."

"I don't know."

"You don't keep in touch? At all?"

"No." Then Quinn added, "Not for years. Before...everything. The last I heard, Ronnie and Sheila were doing time and Mack was pregnant again. Her second."

"Wow," was all Rachel could think to say, selfishly and deliriously happy to know that the so-called friends from back then were history.

Quinn chewed another bite of dinner and decided that she absolutely had to know something after looking at Rachel's hands. "I keep trying to imagine you pummel someone. It's not easy." Rachel threw her head back and covered her somewhat full mouth.

"I did not pummel that guy!"

"Then what happened? I might believe you if you're not so vague. You really lost your temper because of one random bigot? You grew up in Ohio."

"This is a little heavy for dinner."

"It's okay," Quinn assured.

Rachel licked her lips. The topic always made her uncomfortable to talk about but she wasn't planning on letting Quinn leave without asking a few questions of her own, so it was only fair that she was honest. "My Dad was sick. Cancer," she said, her voice controlled. "I remember Daddy telling me. It was a couple of weeks before my album came out. I'd flown in for the weekend as a surprise, didn't even ask them to pick me up from the airport, and Daddy opened the door." Rachel began to smile. "And please keep in mind that I had been trying for twenty-one years to stun at least one of them into silence. He stood there like Barbra was standing on the doorstep instead of his daughter. He could have caught flies the way his jaw dropped. But I noticed right away that he looked different: tired; older. When he snapped out of it long enough to smile and hug and kiss me, he still seemed different. I could tell something wasn't right. And you know me, I always have to ask.

As soon as I did, he started crying. And it wasn't like the way he'd ever cried before. It was different. Deeper. That's when I realised he hadn't announced my arrival for Dad to rush in and fuss over me. _Baby, I'm so sorry_ , he said. My Dad was upstairs in bed. I barely recognised him. It was a couple of days after one of his rounds of chemo and he was— he was really sick, Quinn. And I was so mad at both of them for keeping something like that from me. I mean, one of my _parents_ are diagnosed with a disease that's responsible for millions of deaths worldwide, you'd think I'd get a head's up. They said they were trying to protect me and that I deserved to experience all of the positive rewards for working so hard. They didn't want to take that away from me." Rachel's pause was lengthy when she noticed Quinn's expression; like she was itching to speak but didn't want to interrupt.

"Is he okay?" Quinn asked quietly.

A soft, content look steadily grew on Rachel's face until it overtook completely. "Yeah. He responded well to treatment and he's been in remission for the past year." Quinn nodded but didn't say anything. She didn't need to; relief had smoothed out her skin. Rachel carried on, "The press found out and there was this one guy that followed me everywhere for days trying to get a sad picture or quote from me. I tried so hard to ignore him and not let him terrorise me, but that's exactly I let him do. One day I was walking back to my car and he showed up out of nowhere and said God was punishing my Dad for being gay."

"And that's when you Hulked out."

"That's when I delivered a single, sharp blow to his face, yes."

Quinn smiled. "Good." She ran her tongue over her lips, looking like she was mulling something over. "Don't you wish I would've been there with my bottle?"

"Shut up," Rachel laughed. She looked at her and took in everything that was different from six years ago, sobering at the sight of it. "I can handle heavy, Quinn. Whatever you have to tell me isn't going to freak me out to the point you think. Okay? Despite how I'm treated sometimes, I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Quinn put her fork down and moved the plate backwards, a little more than half left. Dumping all of her baggage on Rachel was never part of the plan but since when had she been able to follow one of those when Rachel Berry was concerned? And since when had Rachel ever had an image of her that wasn't warped to her own liking? She had done terrible things to her and Rachel still didn't see her as anything but perfect. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The things she'd done, both in general and to Rachel made Quinn far from perfect.

"When I tell you things, I don't want you to be afraid of me but I also don't want you to dress it up as something it isn't. It's not going to be pretty, so don't try to make it be. Your perception of me can't be warped to something you're more comfortable with."

"I wouldn't—"

"You would," Quinn said. "I think it's in your nature. I don't know if what happened outside the studio changed things but in case it didn't, you need to stop seeing me as how you think of me and start seeing me how I am, how I act. Just because someone has potential to be a different person, it doesn't mean they ever will be. Rewarding them for it when they haven't even done anything is pointless. It's just promoting unhealthy attitudes and relationships. I don't want you to put your care into something or someone who isn't doing the same, so... try not to forget that."

"I'm not that girl from high school anymore, Quinn. The very least you can expect of me is to treat you as a friend, and that's what I've been doing."

"Did the other day change things?" Quinn asked.

"It changed everything," Rachel answered. "It was my turn for a crash landing. My eyes needing opening, so in one sense I was glad for it. I'm glad you didn't wait any longer to tell me. But as for it affecting my support, no. You still have it."

"You said I was perfect. Rachel, seriously, you can't think that about me. I know it's easy to get desensitised to this, but—"

Rachel's lips parted the same way her eyes widened. "Desensitised? Are you serious?"

"Aren't you?"

"No!"

Quinn spoke evenly to not rile her further. "I just don't want you getting hurt. I'm not perfect."

"I know you're not," Rachel said assertively. "Neither am I. God, I'm so not. When I said that you were, I was... caught up in the moment. It slipped out. But at the same time, you have to be open to the possibility that it's not me with the warped idea of who you are."

But Quinn wasn't open to that idea at all and she dismissed it quickly. She thought it was like Rachel was saying she wasn't that screwed up and she was somewhere close to being ready to deal with life again as a regular person who was not reliant on a substance. She didn't consider that Rachel wasn't saying that at all.

Rachel didn't have much of her dinner left either, and she didn't think she'd be able to finish it now. She picked up her plate and then went to pick up Quinn's after asking if she was done. She went to the kitchen to put them on the side and Quinn followed her, only for the bottle of wine and then was gone again.

Quinn refilled Rachel's glass until a little over a third of it was full but was selfish with her own serving. She needed the extra encouragement. She drank until she could feel the heat travelling down to her stomach and then she looked up to Rachel who had settled on the couch too and was facing her, sitting on one of her legs with the other drawn up as she sipped her wine.

"Thank you for telling me about your Dad. I'm glad he's okay," Quinn said, and Rachel pressed her lips together in response. Quinn knew what she was waiting for and was grateful that she didn't verbalise it. It felt easier. She wasn't being pushed into the deep end, she was being given those few moments to close her eyes and breathe before making the jump herself.

There were no cushions on the couch, she noticed abruptly. She searched for one but there was nothing there. One was on a chair but she'd have to get up to fetch it and she was beginning to feel like she was sinking into the furniture.

Rachel's eyes followed hers and she took a chance that it wasn't completely unwarranted and stretched her leg out over Quinn's lap. Quinn's hand was cool against her ankle.

"I overdosed once."

The words faded away and Quinn couldn't look at Rachel but she could imagine the look on her face perfectly well. She rubbed the soft skin underneath her fingers.

"It was a couple of years ago. I'd had a bad day —quite a few of them in a row, actually— and it felt like the only time I could stop was when I was high. My head would stop spinning; the pain would go away; I'd understand everything, even me. The way you feel when you use changes over time. The first time is like euphoria and you don't need much to feel it, but every time after that is different. It's never as good. I mean, sometimes you can feel on the way to that kind of ecstasy but it's not exactly the same. And that particular day I needed it to be, so I took a bigger hit and it was too much. If I'd have been clean and used that much I'd probably be dead."

Rachel's mind conjured more than one horrific vision of Quinn lying forgotten in a room, unconscious, dying, and was unable to keep from crying. She knew there was a chance it had happened before but hearing it made for a discrete effect. It made it real.

"I was with Jackson. We were at his place and he'd been out of it for a couple of hours or so and I wasn't feeling the way I needed to feel, so I took more. Jackson eventually noticed something was wrong and he called an ambulance."

"Did it hurt?" Rachel asked, because when her imagination ran wild she always had to add fuel to the fire.

"It was just like going to sleep," Quinn replied softly, looking at her now. The big tears she was met with and the way Rachel's chest was moving in and out more rapidly the longer they looked at each other made her squirm. "You wanted me to tell you," she said, to herself more than anything.

Rachel nodded. "Thank you," she said thickly, after a moment.

"It only happened once."

It was still one time too many. Rachel couldn't focus on anything but the images of Quinn in various stages of her overdose until a cool hand was holding hers and she was squeezing back.


	9. Glittering Blackness

The knock at the door couldn't have come at a better time. Or worse, depending on how you looked at it. Rachel was still trying to process everything Quinn had just told her. It had only been a few minutes and her eyes and eyelashes were still wet. Her heart was still broken.

She put her glass on the floor and wiped her eyes dry but it was obvious she'd been crying.

"They're early."

"Who?"

Rachel held Quinn's hand with both of hers now. "Trust me?"

They both heard voices on the other side of the door: impatient demands to open up. Quinn's face contorted with reluctance but she didn't make a move to suggest she was leaving soon. She should have known that Rachel would do something like this. She never stopped pushing that little bit further, but that was probably a good thing.

"Can I let them in?" Rachel asked. "If you really don't want me to, I won't, but this is about healing, okay? You need this and they need it. The longer you guys wait, the harder it's going to be."

Quinn thought she needed this like she needed a hole in the head, but she agreed anyway. She would be able to handle it. After sharing what she just had with Rachel, it wasn't as bad as it would have been if they hadn't had a moment. Or several of them, by this point.

Rachel was almost at the door when she heard Quinn's voice behind her.

"Wait."

Quinn pulled her jacket down from the hook and swung it around her shoulders, pushing her arms through. She pulled her hair out from under the collar and then said, "Okay."

Kurt and Mercedes were the first two people Rachel saw when she opened the door. They were standing there with bright smiles, hoping to dissolve any lingering tension between any of them as quickly and painlessly as possible. It was only a grin, but sometimes that's all it took to break the ice.

Finn, Puck, and Sam each had their hands full of six-packs and Brittany and Tina were each holding two bottles of wine.

Rachel was certain that amount of alcohol would make an impact on the night's outcome, she just wasn't sure if it would be good or bad.

There was a loud chorus of "hey" and they were all piling through the door.

Santana was last, cradling a box of wine under each arm. Rachel gawped at her but refrained from commenting. Santana, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

"I see you've been blubbering like a baby, which can only mean Quinn's nearby."

She wasn't wrong. One sweep of the room confirmed Quinn to be back on the couch, holding her glass out as Brittany re-filled it, unresponsive when a loud kiss was pressed to her face.

"You've been here two seconds and I already want to punch you. Congrats." Quinn lifted her glass.

"Hey, any time you want to take this outside... God knows I have enough pent up anger."

"I didn't say I _would_ do it, but Rachel did say you'd all matured. Besides the lines on your face, I'm not seeing where."

Santana headed through the living area to the kitchen where Puck and Finn and everybody else had gone. "You're right, forgot myself there," she said airily. "Like you're worth it."

Rachel huffed crossly. "We are all friends," she said loudly. "Apologise to each other right now."

It was ineffectual.

Brittany settled on the couch by Quinn, ignoring all need for personal space. She brushed her fingers over the soft leather covering Quinn's shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "I like this."

"Me too."

"And I like you. I'm sorry about the other day. It sucked, didn't it?"

Which day wasn't very specific, but nonetheless Quinn could definitely recall one of those. "I don't know, did it?"

Brittany drank some wine. "Yeah! It was the worst. I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"What about it?"

"The way we were all so mean. I really wanted to call you and, like, apologise but I still don't have your number, so..."

Quinn tried to move away a little because honestly, it was weird having Brittany so close. She didn't have much doubt that if she turned her head she'd be able to see every shade of blue in her eyes. "You weren't mean," Quinn said.

"But I was thinking about it and I think I should have stuck up for you, even if you were being mean, too. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"They also call you out on your bullshit."

A gasped grin lit Brittany's face up. "Does this mean we're friends again?" She would see Quinn as one no matter the answer but it would be nice to hear confirmation.

"I don't know," Quinn said neutrally, but she was smiling a little —nervous-like— because Brittany looked ridiculous, if not sweet getting so excited.

"Okay," Brittany replied patiently, "but I want you to know that I'm still sorry about everything that happened and I'm happy we're all together tonight."

Sam walked over and sat down in the armchair. "Hey, guys."

Quinn looked at him. "Hey."

Artie rolled over to them with a bottle of beer wedged between his left leg and the side of the chair. "Hey, Quinn," he said easily.

She wasn't impressed with his casual demeanour but at the same time she felt a larger amount of disgust at herself from the last time they exchanged words. Quinn was angry with so many people in the apartment that, in the end, she decided to give Artie a get out of jail free card and felt sick every time she looked at his limp legs.

The kitchen was full but Rachel managed to squeeze in behind Mercedes so that she was next to Santana. "What is your problem?" she demanded.

"You know what my problem is," Santana said as she pulled the seal off the tap and set the box of wine upright again. "I didn't want to come tonight. It's a waste of all of our time."

"The only way it will be wasted is if you don't even try. Please don't come into my home and act like a petulant child. If you have something to say, this is your time to say it. Stop hiding behind insults and sarcasm."

Santana looked like she wanted to rebuff that but the truth was she did plan on sulking in the kitchen for most of the night. She didn't expect Rachel to be so frank with her, though. "What's _your_ problem?"

"I'm cheesed off! Seconds into our mission and you had your tee's out."

"Tits?"

Rachel wiggled her fingers. "Talons. You were clawing at Quinn before you'd even said hello."

"You're saying that like she deserves better, but I'm still not seeing how."

"She's your friend," Rachel said as Puck came up the other side of Santana and leaned against the counter.

"Quinn's not my friend. Is she your friend?" Santana asked him.

Puck's face was blank. "Quinn, who?"

"Thank you." Her smile was victorious as she looked back at Rachel. "See? Not everyone is willing to buy into the shit she's selling. How is she our friend? Has she told you we're friends?"

"That doesn't mean anything!" Rachel insisted. "As a person, she's very internal. Just because she doesn't exclusively say something it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it."

"The bullshit is coming off you in waves, Rachel. Fine, let me put it another way. Has Quinn acted like we're friends? Actually, you know what, let's do one better than that, has she acted as if she even likes us?" There was a beat. "The answer you're looking for is no."

"Maybe because the second she walked into the studio, she was pounced on."

"Yeah, with _hugs_ ," Santana said.

"You didn't hug her," Rachel asserted. She looked to Puck, as well. "Or you. But despite that, the way you guys all looked at her? You think that stuff doesn't affect her? This is Quinn, okay, it matters."

Everyone in the kitchen was eavesdropping but it was Kurt who spoke up next, his voice gentle. "Rachel, I get what you're saying but you can't hold any of our reactions against us that day. It was shock."

"Fine. What about the next day, or the one after that? What about when she was attacked? You guys ganged up on her. I'm not excusing her behaviour but she was always going to retaliate. The way Quinn works... you have to take the first step. When she's comfortable, she'll move forward, as well. I promise the effort is worth it."

Santana scoffed indignantly at the suggestion, the sheer nerve of it. "She's the one who left us! I'm not bowing to Buckbeak just because you think it's the right thing to do. I don't care."

"You care," Mercedes said confidently. "That's why you're so mad."

"I am _not_ apologising to her. I was worried out of my mind for that girl, but not anymore. She didn't want me to know her, so now I don't. How am I supposed to care about a person I don't know?"

"The same way you're working on a project to help thousands of people you've never met," Blaine said, wanting all of the drama to go away. After taking some time to think about things, he now understood that a bad attitude wasn't going to help the situation.

Santana shook her head defiantly. "No. To anything you guys have to say... no. This crap isn't washing with me."

They watched her walk outside to the balcony and close the door behind her. Puck was the only one of them who followed her. Tina looked stricken, like she would cry if things were to escalate on a bigger or even scale as last time. "Can we get this over with now, Rachel? We want to help Quinn."

When they all made their way to the living area Quinn was surrounded by Brittany and Finn while Sam chatted animatedly about first moving to LA. Since the other couch was rapidly occupied by Kurt, Blaine, and Tina, Rachel decided to sit on the floor next to Mike. She could have easily squeezed between them but it was nice to have a full house of all her old friends, so she let them have the extra space.

She looked over at Quinn to gauge how she was feeling being around everyone after how things had ended last time. As far as she could tell, Quinn looked nervous but not too uncomfortable.

"Has he told you about the time he was asked if he was an albino yet?" Rachel asked, and Quinn couldn't help but smile.

"It was the second thing he said."

"Sam!"

He chuckled defensively. "What? Come on, it was a traumatic experience for me. I have to talk through it."

"Every chance you get?"

"Quinn had never heard that story. Or Finn, right? Mike? Tina?" Sam looked around for confirmation and was pleased to receive it.

Truthfully, the only people to have heard that story (multiple times) were Rachel, Puck, Kurt, Mercedes, Blaine, Brittany, and Santana, and that was because it was brought up each time they visited each other. Mercedes could attest to it also being brought up every Thanksgiving when Sam would say what he was grateful for, and during each summer when he'd do his best to tan.

Mercedes thought he looked as cute as ever but she was going to kill him if she had to sit through that story one more time. "Poor Sam," she drawled.

"I got stuck on ice two years ago," Artie confessed. "I was crossing a road and got stuck right in the middle of it. Almost froze my butt off waiting for help. It was over an hour, and it got dark. I thought I was going to be roadkill."

"Why would you wheel over ice? That's crazy. You're crazy."

Artie pressed his lips together, feeling almost as stupid sharing the story as when it had actually happened. "Because, Mercedes, I didn't want to wait for a ride from a friend —who was being an asshole at the time, I'll have you know, and I was too stubborn to waste valuable food money on a cab. Do you know how much it sucks to have a stranger lift you into a car?"

"At least you're not going to put their back out if they pick you up," she said. "Sam here thought he slipped a disc the last time he carried me."

"That's not true!" Sam argued. "I told you, I hurt my back at the gym."

"Yeah, right."

"I did!"

Finn filled his mouth with enough beer to make his cheeks protrude, swallowed, and said, "I got hit by a car once. It really put things into prospective for me." It had been his fault. He rushed out there for his boss without looking, wanting to check how much discount he could give a friendly and attractive customer.

Brittany gasped. "Oh, my God." Finn nodded solemnly. "Was the car okay?"

"That's not funny," he said, grinning anyway. "It really hurt. I broke three fingers."

Rachel was listening to how the car wasn't even going very fast because it was a work-related accident and happened in the back lot, but she was going to bite through her tongue if she didn't say something. "Perspective," she blurted out.

Finn got a mildly confused look on his face. "Oh. Isn't that what I — what did I say?"

Kurt groaned loudly in exasperation. "You couldn't let him have it, could you?"

Rachel took an innocent sip of wine.

Kurt figured it was his turn now, seeing as he held the group's attention. "My Dad had another heart scare a couple of years ago. He's okay for now, and Carole tried her best to make him healthier but he wouldn't listen until he was back in hospital. It really scared us all. I thought for sure that my luck had run out. I had this amazing step-mother come into my life and I thought it was the universe saying I couldn't have both. I couldn't be content with family life for so many years in a row." He exhaled shakily and felt Blaine take his hand. "But that was crap. It was just my Dad's body telling him to put better food in it, that's all."

"He's okay, right?" Mike asked.

"For now, yeah. He's eating better and they go to the gym together. The doctors seem happy."

Quinn suddenly realised what they were all trying to do.

She sat between Brittany and Finn, very much aware of how Brittany was pressed into her side and the way Finn's legs were slouched open, touching hers which were neatly crossed. The closeness was something she was getting used to, but this display of vulnerability from everyone made her feel like she was trapped under a boulder. They couldn't do this around her. They couldn't expose various degrees of emotional scars in an attempt to apologise for, well, everything. That would mean she'd be expected to do the same and she wasn't ready for that yet.

"You don't have to do this," she said quietly.

"You're probably right," Blaine conceded after a second when nobody else spoke up. "So, let's just get it out in the open. Quinn, I'm sorry if I've done anything to make you feel uncomfortable. I really am. It's great having you around."

"Me too. I'm sorry, too," Kurt added.

Artie had felt awful about what happened in the studio. He'd only done it to try to get a reaction, to make her realise that she could be a better person. But the thing about Quinn was that she still had the ability to make someone want to wrap her up and never let go when she was upset. She never could hide pain terribly well, and he'd seen it written all over her face before she'd disciplined it into aloofness that day.

"I sucked. I'm really sorry."

"We all sucked," Mercedes corrected. "We all said things we didn't mean —or they came out the wrong way. It got out of hand way too fast and I know every one of us regrets it, okay? Every one of us loves you and supports you."

"I love you," Brittany said quietly, close to Quinn's ear.

Quinn's face was pulled tight, conscious of how many of her old friends were staring at her. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and blinked them away stubbornly. In the end, though, she sounded as defenceless as she felt. "What I said that day... I didn't— I mean, you know I didn't..."

Finn decided to save her. "We're all sorry, right?" He looked around and heard no disputes. "We've all treated each other like crap at one point or another, so we all suck. But we're all trying to be better people and better friends, so I think we should wipe the slate clean. Maybe we don't have to forget all the shitty stuff but still not bring it into every fight. Forgive each other."

"Right," Mercedes added. "The past is the past. I love each and every one of you, flaws and all."

"And for those of us who don't have flaws," Rachel started, promptly cut off by her friends' light-hearted jeers and teasing.

With that, the atmosphere lifted and Quinn couldn't have been more grateful to Rachel for the distraction. She noticed the questioning look in Rachel's eyes when she got up from the couch. "I just need something else to drink."

Finn surged forward and picked up an unopened beer from the table. "Here."

"Water," Quinn said, tired of alcohol in general at the moment.

Tina asked if she could help, but even on a bad day Quinn was fairly certain of her competence to pull a bottle of water from the fridge, so she declined with as much graciousness as she could muster.

She was emptying the contents of a bottle into a glass after she'd seen a small bowl of sliced lemon in the fridge when Puck walked in. He walked up beside her and went straight for another drink, tossing the cap on the counter next to her.

The initial silence was telling.

She could feel the tension instantly but refused to be the first one to speak. She almost made it out of there unscathed, but Puck had plenty to say.

"Where's your bodyguard?" Quinn tried to walk past him but he stepped in her path. "Seriously, Rachel's letting you out of her sight? Is she out of her mind?"

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Sure you are. You owe me this much."

"I owe you?" Quinn nodded, trying to let that sink in. Nope, it was too funny to repress. She smiled and she could tell it got under Puck's skin because the muscle in his jaw stood out with a hard clench of his teeth.

"How could you do this? What about Beth?"

"What about her?"

"What do you think she'd say or think about her Mom doing this shit?" he asked, gesturing to her arms which were covered but knowing what he'd find if he was to push the sleeves up. "You think she'd brag to all her friends about how cool you are?"

Quinn's voice was direct and firm. "Shelby is her Mom."

"Answer the question."

"I don't want to talk about her," she said, lifting her chin.

"She'd be fucking terrified of you," Puck snarled.

"You've got hair now, but you still don't have a clue, do you?"

"She'd be ashamed of you, like I am."

"Yeah, like that's going to keep me up at night."

"It should," Puck replied.

Quinn frowned. "Don't flatter yourself. Your opinion of me didn't matter in high school and it doesn't matter now."

"What about Beth?" He stepped to the right when Quinn tried for a second time to move past him and leave, blocking her. "What about Beth, Quinn?"

There was an anxious glimmer in her eyes and the way her mouth struggled to find something to say for a few moments. "Shelby is her Mom," Quinn said evenly. "She's been raising and taking care of our baby for Beth's entire life. If Beth saw us in the street, do you think she'd even give us a second glance? We're nobody and nothing to her."

"What if we weren't? Say Shelby has told her all about us, or shit, shown her photos? What if a beautiful little girl stops you on the way home someday soon and says, 'I'm your daughter'?"

"We have more chance of you not being a dick for five minutes."

"I'm a dick? You're a dick! And you're damn selfish."

Quinn shook her head and made another attempt to rejoin the group. Her arm was latched on to this time. "Let go of me," she ordered.

"Do you think Beth's ever going to wonder what her birth mother is like, 'cause I do; before she goes to sleep at night. Maybe now, maybe in the future. You think she's going to dream up this version of you? You think she's going to want you dead?"

"I'm nothing to her, just the oven," she said matter-of-factly.

"That's bullshit."

"I'm nothing to her!" Quinn yelled, ripping her arm free of his hold. She was still glaring at him when Finn and Rachel walked in.

"Is everything— there's not supposed to be any yelling," Rachel said softly.

Quinn put her glass on the counter and decided she needed some air. She brushed by Rachel on the way outside to the balcony and looked up to Finn. "Keep him away from me."

The fresh air felt good. Calming.

She walked up to the railing and looked down. As ever, there was a flurry of activity and movement below; people all trying to get somewhere, and Quinn knew it to be deafening at times but from up here, it was quiet. It was muted. She closed her eyes and pushed out a long, steady breath. Just as she began to feel the tension leave her shoulders, she heard it:

"You're putting your running shoes on already? I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're not even trying to exceed my expectations."

She wondered where Santana had got to, but she didn't think to consider the possibility of her being out there. It was an unwelcome surprise, she could tell already.

"I'm getting some air," Quinn said without turning around.

"Yeah, why? Something tells me you're not out here appreciating the beauty of the city."

She considered going back inside or going to tell Rachel she had to go, but her blood had barely had the chance to cool down and the tone to Santana's voice was already pissing her off.

"Let me guess," Santana continued, "Puck delivered one or two home truths and you came out here to shoot up one of the few veins you have left? So predictable." Her eyes roamed over the leather covering Quinn's arms. "That's why you haven't taken that jacket off, right? Feeling a little self-conscious about those hideous tracks? Good. You should be."

Quinn was well-aware of being baited but she was allowing herself to be reeled in. She couldn't stand it any longer. She opened her eyes and turned to face Santana. "Now that I'm here, if you have something to say, why don't you do us both a favour and say it? Don't be shy, Santana. We both know that's not your style."

"You need to get clean," Santana said strongly, surprising herself with how readily the words shot out of her mouth. "You need to show some goddamn restraint and stop using, for everyone's sake."

Quinn didn't doubt Santana's sincerity but she knew that wasn't the most pressing issue. There were other things dying to be said. "That's not what you're itching to say to me, is it?"

"Why'd you do it?" was fired out quickly.

"Just to be clear, what are we talking about here?"

Santana's glare heated further. At first she was pissed that Quinn was acting so cavalier about their friendship but then that anger was focused on how Quinn was probably asking a genuine question. There had been so many screw-ups over the past few years that Santana needed to choose her words more carefully. She feared to consider the mistakes. "Why don't we start with why you cut your friends out of your life and dropped off the face of the earth?"

"A lot of reasons."

"Narrow them down for me," Santana said, walking closer to her.

"It was nothing personal."

Her lips turned down, considering that crumb of information. Then she began to smile. "Nothing personal?" Santana echoed. "Well, thank God. Now I can let it go."

"Finally."

"Maybe everyone else has forgiven you. Maybe it's easier for them to accept that whatever happened happened. Brittany has no problem telling just about everyone how much she loves you, but I can't. You _owe_ me an explanation. God, we were friends!"

There was that word again. It caused Quinn to flare up.

"If I hear that word one more time today, I swear to God I'm going to lose it. I don't owe you anything."

"No, come on, Quinn, don't be immature. We're supposed to be adults, remember? Talk to me." When an explanation wasn't forthcoming, she couldn't help the frown on her face betraying how much she was desperate to hear it. "Seriously, talk."

"When did you know something was different?" Quinn asked. The question threw Santana for a moment.

"What?"

"Tell me when you knew something was different. When did you know I'd cut you out?"

"Moving away and changing your number without telling me was kind of a giveaway," Santana remarked venomously. "After we couldn't contact you, me and Britt got on a plane to visit you. As it turned out, the entire state of Illinois was missing one Miss Quinn Fabray," she said. "I don't know why you left. There was plenty to keep you busy there."

"And when did you try to call me?" Quinn asked curiously.

"A million times! I _did_ feel I reached that stupid bitch's recording in error, so I tried again and again, and again. But it wasn't an error, you were being ruthless."

"I didn't ask how many times, I asked when you tried to call."

Santana's face twisted, trying to glare and remember when she'd called, despite how superfluous that fact was. "I don't know, like, December a few years ago. I called to ask if you wanted to hang and maybe do a little Christmas shopping with us because it'd been a while since we'd seen each other."

"Three years ago?" There was confirmation from Santana and Quinn smirked. "Okay, you called me to hang out. We were friends, you say? If that's true, why did it take five months for you to figure out my number was disconnected?"

A rush of air expelled out of Santana's mouth. She looked at her in disbelief. "It was not that long."

"I stopped paying my bill at the end of June and I moved away during fourth weekend," Quinn shrugged. "It was that long. So, you can go ahead and stop telling me how much I owe you now. It's a little stale."

Santana's eyes widened. "I was busy! I was getting my shit together to be launched, you know that. You know how hard I worked to make that happen. I didn't know anything was wrong because you didn't tell me! Nothing more than how you were during senior year but you made it through that."

"You knew," Quinn accused. "You didn't want to deal with it."

"I didn't know," Santana refuted loudly. "Every time someone asked you that, during senior year or even after high school, you'd deny it or do anything to push us away until we stopped asking. And sure we all thought the transformation from a Life Saver to a Jolly Rancher who fell into an ash tray was drastic at first, but after a while it sort of just grew on us. Even when you lost the bad dye-job and kept the personality. We accepted that it was who you wanted to be for now. I thought that was what you wanted. Maybe if you'd have stopped being so stubborn, someone could have helped you. I could have helped you!" She looked at the new Quinn, a polar opposite of the girl she'd once befriended, and felt her eyes prick with tears. "And maybe I wouldn't be this close to walking away."

Quinn didn't say anything right away but when she did, her voice was cutting. "If you really mean that, and I pray that you do, walk away right now. You have no right to demand anything from me! At best we were on-again off-again friends in high school, and we barely saw each other a handful of times in Illinois. You know what that means in the real world? Nothing."

"Screw you, we were close." She'd told and trusted Quinn with things that she'd never told anyone, other than Brittany. Quinn was the first —and, for a long time, only— person who knew about her and Brittany's relationship and she never treated her any differently. Santana would never forget that. Maybe things had been tight financially and she couldn't afford a plane ticket across the country as often as she liked but she almost always made the effort to call her regularly, before her career and passion for it swept her up for a little while.

"Maybe once, when you were throwing down with me in a hallway."

"We were stupid kids!" Santana exploded. "And if I'm not mistaken, you hit me back."

Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. We were close the times you were possessive over Puck and when you'd call me a slut —always rich coming from you, by the way— or insult my baby. Oh, and especially when I had a breakdown during Nationals and you avoided me like the plague all summer. God, so close. Besties for life."

Quinn couldn't mean that. She was just being a bitch to get a reaction. They'd somewhat kept in touch for a few years after high school, something even Rachel didn't get with Quinn. There was no way Quinn would have been able to harbour that much resentment.

Santana sneered at her. "You know what? Your _head_ is so far up your ass—"

"I'm surprised you can tell, what with having your nose shoved just as deep into my business like it has any right to be there. I've had it with you and your self-righteousness. You still think the world is indebted to you because once upon a time you were an angry, closeted lesbian with no emotional outlet who had to treat people like shit to feel better about yourself. But wait, they couldn't hate you back! That's not fair. Santana couldn't have consequences!"

Santana laughed. "Are you really going there? Do you need a recap of the way you treated people in high school and how you reacted once they turned their back on you? Is your head really that fucked from whatever you're pumping yourself full of?"

"I'm not the one making threats," Quinn said. "I'm not making demands and assumptions that I have no right to. The fact is I had reasons for doing what I did and believe it or not, none of them were to spite any of you."

"I don't believe that," Santana replied. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't and wouldn't. Quinn's careless shrug didn't exactly help, either.

"That's your problem, not mine."

"No, see, when I have a problem that includes you, I'm going to make it your problem. We have to work together and convince the entire fucking country that we're not at each other's throats. When the single's out, there's going to be TV appearances, interviews, maybe a music video. It all depends on how we're received but you know there's a good chance for all of that. I don't mean this as pretentious as it's going to come out, but some of your friends are kind of a big deal. So if I have a problem, that means you definitely do."

"Granted I'm not really trying to care all that much, but I still don't give a crap. Your problems belong to you. Same goes with everyone in that apartment."

Santana's eyes flitted over Quinn's outfit again, a small smile playing at her mouth. "You don't care even a little bit about anyone in there? Give me a break. You know, there are white lies and then there's lying through your teeth. I've seen the way you've been dressing when you're at the studio. Some days it's not much better than your Skank days. But tonight? You know it's not Sunday, right? There was no need to dress up."

"Everything else was dirty," Quinn said simply.

"Rachel lives in a nice place, right?"

"Sure."

"Much nicer than the dumpster I'm sure you're living in. But you knew that already, didn't you? You knew she'd end up at the top, and that her neighbours aren't exactly the scum that reside in the other side of your dumpster. That's why you tried to look nice. Someone should tell you, though; you can't look good when you look like you're about to drop dead."

"Someone should tell you that your opinion isn't as valued as you seem to think," Quinn fired back.

Santana stalked forward and grabbed the collar of Quinn's jacket. She pushed her around and pulled down quickly, fighting against the struggled reaction. She had to yank her left arm down faster and harder than she'd previously thought necessary, but then Quinn's jacket was only hanging on one arm. Santana didn't feel any remorse at handling her this way, not even when she grabbed Quinn's wrist and stepped away to pull her back around. Not even when she saw the pink tinge of embarrassment to Quinn's cheeks.

The only time Santana felt anything other than fury was when she saw the mix of old and new track marks to Quinn's arm. Her grip slackened and she couldn't get enough air. Tears burned her eyes relentlessly. After long enough to allow an ache to encompass her entire chest cavity, almost to the point of bursting, Santana blew a breath out of pursed lips.

"You're stopping," she said. It wasn't a question. "You hear me? You're stopping before you leave us again, permanently."

Then it was her turn to be pushed and this time she didn't stop Quinn as she stormed away from her and put her jacket back on before she went inside the apartment.

There was music playing inside. Quinn figured that was why Rachel hadn't gone out there with demands to be nice to each other. Her old friends were caught up in old stories and their drinks, not noticing her until she'd made it all the way past them, and then Finn looked up.

"You okay?"

She used to hate it when he'd ask stupid questions like that. You didn't have to be smart to read an emotion on somebody's face. However many times he'd asked her that in the past, it was always her eyes he could read best, and as soon as he saw them they were telling him that he shouldn't have wasted his breath.

Quinn looked around the room and then at Finn again. "Where's Rachel?"

"I don't know," he confessed, wishing he'd paid more attention to where his friend had gone so he could answer the question. "Guys, where did Rachel go?"

Puck's gaze was moody as he stared over at her. "Probably away from her."

"Shut up, dude."

"Yeah, Puck, zip it." Mercedes voice was kinder when she addressed Quinn. "I think one of her Dads called. She went to take it in the bedroom."

Quinn nodded. "Thanks."

She walked through the apartment without much hesitation and without touching anything. Everything was so much nicer here and she didn't want to ruin anything, though she would have resorted to pushing doors open to find Rachel. After only a couple of seconds, though, she heard her voice coming from behind a door to her right. The door was closed to and she didn't want to interrupt or look Rachel in the eyes as she told her she was leaving, but at the same time she didn't want to leave without a word after what they'd discussed before the apartment filled with people. She stood there for a moment, debating, and failing in her efforts not to eavesdrop.

"Work is so good right now, Dad. I wish you could be here to see everyone again." Rachel was quiet for a second, and then there was softer warmth to her voice. "I miss you more. No, I do. There's no fighting me on this one. How's your cold?" Quinn found the way Rachel could switch gears from soft to deadly serious so quickly endlessly amusing. "Are you taking the Echinacea I sent? Yes, they do work! And drink the tea, okay? A-and hand sanitizer is there for a reason. I want pictures of an empty bottle of Purell before the end of the week. I'll know if you've used it or not. Sixth sense, remember?" She gasped. "Don't make fun of me! You and Daddy used to tell me it was inherited. Are you admitting to talking BS to your innocent, impressionable daughter?" Rachel laughed. "I'll wash my mouth out if you promise me you're taking care of yourself. And don't be stubborn; let Daddy take care of you, too."

It appeared that Rachel was always trying to take care of somebody.

And it crossed Quinn's mind, very briefly.

Who took care of Rachel?

A couple of minutes later there was silence inside the room and Quinn was face to face with her. Rachel smiled the moment she saw her, and Quinn felt some of the pressure inside deflate. Rachel had seen the state of her arms— and her in general— better than anyone, had stayed with her during more than one time she'd done something to be ashamed of, and she wasn't looking at her any differently. Her gaze held a warmth and fondness far deeper than Quinn knew she deserved.

"Hey," Rachel said. "The bathroom is down the hall if you were looking for it."

"Uh, no, I was...looking for you." Her eyes couldn't decide where to look and she knew the way they were darting to and from Rachel's was indicating more than apprehension. "I have to go."

Disappointment was written all over the little crease between Rachel's brows. "No, stay," she whined. "The guys haven't been here long. They really want to hang out."

Quinn shook her head. "No." She added, "Another time," to soften the dismissal. It had nothing to do with Rachel but she was uncomfortable and needed to escape.

"I know they came at a bad time. I still haven't... Thank you for earlier, for telling me. I know it isn't easy for you to trust people, so the fact that you trusted me with it at all is really... You can trust me. I promise I won't do anything to make you regret it." Rachel took her hand confidently. "Stay, please. We can talk more when they leave."

"I can't."

"You don't want to?"

"It wasn't anything you did." Quinn didn't want Rachel to blame herself. "I'm glad I saw most of them."

Rachel shifted her weight to the other foot. Quinn said that but was still leaving. "Did you talk to Santana?" She was going to warn her of that but at the time Quinn had brushed past her and didn't wait around to heed any warnings. Besides, it was better for them to be honest with each other sooner rather than later. There was no point prolonging the inevitable.

"Santana talked to me," Quinn confirmed.

"I take it she didn't sugar coat anything."

"That's a nice way of saying she was a bitch."

"And you weren't... sugar coating things either?" Rachel asked, smiling a little.

"I didn't go out there for a fight, I went to cool off. Whatever I said, it was because she doesn't know how to back off."

"Are you sure you want to go right now?" She asked because she still couldn't stand the thought of Quinn going back home alone.

"Yeah, but I'll see you at the studio tomorrow."

"We're not scheduled tomorrow."

The statement was met with disappointment and only a touch of relief. "Oh." There was a party Quinn said she'd show her face at late tomorrow night but other than that and a shift at the diner; she didn't know what she'd do with the time. She was kind of counting on being busy for a few extra hours.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"I'm working a double tomorrow, but I get off at ten. And there's this party I said I'd go to."

Rachel brightened up. That's exactly what she needed. "What kind of party?"

"I don't know, a party kind of party," Quinn teased. She could see the interest shining in Rachel's eyes and didn't find any joy in taking it out. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Not inviting myself to your party?"

"It's not my party, and it's definitely not one I want to go to with you." The way Rachel's brows lifted in surprise and offence made Quinn re-think her choice of words. "I just mean I would hate to see you in that setting. Some of the people can be... they're not your kind of people."

Rachel nodded seriously and said, "Do you have to go?" It came out a little more desperately than she wanted it to. It sounded more like 'Please don't go.'

"Yeah." The words were coming out of Quinn's mouth before she could change her mind. "Come over. Not tomorrow, I won't be in. The day after. We can... do whatever." She could see the shock on Rachel's face instantly.

"Are you sure?"

"If you want to," Quinn said, and Rachel squeezed her hand and spoke lightly.

"That's a stupid question." She moved closer and put her hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Can I— is it okay if I give you a hug before you leave?" Quinn's throat bobbed with a swallow and after a nod of confirmation, Rachel did her best attempt to wrap Quinn up in her arms. She knew how strong Quinn was but there was so much fragility just a little bit beneath the surface that Rachel was becoming increasingly more protective over.

X

Quinn's shift at work was a slow one.

It was always a little strange to be outside in the city again after a double shift. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that anywhere existed outside of the diner and the small expanse of street that was visible from the windows. She only got one break because two waitresses called in sick and she was rushed off her feet most of the time. A shower and a party sounded like her best options for the rest of the night, so as soon as she was finished with work Quinn freshened up at home and headed out.

She'd been there a few times before. It was a large house with steps leading up to it. People were sitting on them, couples huddled together kissing, drinking, or groups of people outside to smoke.

The music was loud inside.

It took a minute to get used to and by that point she'd found her way to the kitchen for a drink. There was a thick cloud of smoke in there and Quinn lingered for a while, reaping the benefits to the sweet scented smoke without having to pay for it herself. If she had to guess, she'd take a stab and say that the kitchen was by far the quietest room of the house, including the bedrooms. Almost everyone in there was calm. Some were selfish with their pipes and then there were those who passed them around, wanting everybody to feel good. Quinn could smell at least two different kinds of pot, depending on which side of the kitchen she was on; one had an almost sweet aroma, and the other was piny.

Quinn didn't share pipes with people she didn't know, so she passed any time someone offered her one. The fumes were more than enough to get her to forget how miserable her day had been.

She was sitting on a stool next to two guys who were complaining about their office jobs, chuckling along to their separate horror stories of male versus female bosses when Francis walked in.

"Yo, Frankie!" someone called out.

At his gesture, Quinn slid off her stool and met Francis halfway, allowing him to drape an arm around her shoulders as they walked through the house.

"You look good," he said sincerely. He always thought Quinn looked good. "Should we show you off or have a drink first?"

Quinn had already had a drink but she let him choose and watched as he swiped a bottle of whisky off the table. He opened the bottle and offered her the first sip, to which she declined. At his insistence, however, she put the bottle to her lips and took a mouthful that burned its way to her stomach. They made their way to a large open-plan living area and dining room and squeezed past the people who were already dancing.

Francis wasn't a dancer. He lacked any semblance of grace on a dance floor and felt like a tool unless it was a slow dance, but he liked trying to dance with Quinn when they were both at the same party. Quinn obliged right away, like she usually did when she wanted something from him. He stood behind her, his hands on her hips as they still danced together a few minutes later, and he relished in the feel of her body moving beneath his hands. Francis was under no illusion that he and Quinn were in any kind of relationship but it was common knowledge that she was his whenever he wanted her. At least, he took any opportunity to make it common knowledge.

More often than not, Quinn went along with whatever he wanted. It didn't matter that she'd sway on her feet even if she was held in his arms, or that her eyes were sometimes closed or unfocused, she never stopped him. And Francis didn't consider himself a prick. He would always stop if a woman told him to.

One of his hands slid further around her body and dipped between her legs, cupping her over her jeans. It was hardly the crudest thing he'd done to her, but maybe Quinn was shy in front of so many people because she grabbed his hand and pulled it back up to her hips where it stayed for all of thirty seconds.

Francis's hands both slipped underneath her top but only one trailed above her stomach until it was over one of Quinn's breasts. Once again, his fun came to a screeching halt when she tugged his hand back down to her stomach, still dancing. He didn't push his luck, even though an angry Quinn was one of the fastest ways to get him hard.

Quinn lost herself in the loud music and it was only through necessity that she allowed Francis to lead her towards a newly-unoccupied couch. It was always the music.

Francis pulled her onto his lap and she was trying to get comfortable when he leaned forward for a kiss. Quinn turned her head so he got her cheek instead.

"So, did you bring what I—" His hand was on her cheek, turning her face around and holding it in place as he kissed her lips. She returned it, lingering for a moment. "Did you bring my stuff?"

"Have I ever let you down?"

Quinn smiled and kissed him impulsively before he handed over two small packets. The small clumps were white and they crumbled into powder when she applied a small amount of pressure. Francis was reliable but there was always a rush of relief when she held the packets in her hands.

"There're some people I have to talk to," he said, looking up to her eyes. "Catch you later?" Quinn nodded; making a vague sound that he supposed was to imply her agreement. Francis squeezed one of her thighs that were draped over his legs and waited while she lifted one up and swung around to sit on the seat next to him, stuffing the packets into one of her jeans pockets. She didn't pull anything out of them. Francis got to his feet and looked down at her. "You know you owe me." Quinn glanced up at him.

"I know."

"I know you're a smart girl Quinn, so don't think about leaving without paying, right?"

"I won't," she assured him.

After only a couple of minutes, Quinn went back to the kitchen and then to find a bathroom. The one downstairs had a big line and she wasn't prepared to wait that long, so she made her way upstairs.

It was a little quieter up there, but nowhere near empty.

She'd been at the house before but couldn't remember if she'd been upstairs. Either way, she had to search for the bathroom. Quinn was sent sideways into the wall when a guy stumbled and fell against her. She put her arm out, trying to help him move off her. Her eyes only softened when she saw that it was one of the office guys from the kitchen earlier.

"Shit," he gasped, eyes red and glazed. "Sorry I, like, crushed you there." He made sure he was steady on his feet as he put a gentle hand on her elbow and pulled her away from the wall.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" Quinn laughed softly. "Are you on planet Earth?"

"Barely," he grinned. "But I am—I am going home," he said seriously, holding his car keys up as proof.

"Maybe walk?"

"Walk?"

"You could make it interesting. Moonwalk," Quinn suggested, and the guy's face lit up.

"Yeah!" He turned away, presumably to his friends. "Guys, I'm moonwalking home!"

Quinn only had to wait for two people to finish using the bathroom and then she was turning the lock. She stripped her jacket off and hung it on the back of the door before rooting through cabinet until she found a cotton wool ball and tore a small piece off, setting it down next to the spoon she'd brought up from the kitchen. She opened one of the packets from her pocket and deposited a small amount onto the spoon and began running the hot water. Quinn held her fingers under the stream until it was no longer cold.

This was always her least favourite part. She was always too impatient to prepare her syringes. She hated the time it took, however small, and having to do it in the first place.

After the scratch of the lighter met her ears and the flame was held under the spoon, liquid beginning to bubble, Quinn could feel the rush of relief and excitement again. She put the tip of the needle against the cotton wool and pulled, drawing the liquid up.

Quinn used the back of her hand to pump some sanitizer into the other. She extended her arm instinctively, rubbing the alcohol up and down her forearm. As it cooled rapidly against her skin, all she could hear in her head above the music, above the laughter and the thumps against the wall from the adjacent bedroom, was Rachel.

Quinn shook her head to rid it of Rachel talking about goddamn echinacea, and then all she could recall was Santana and Puck's lecture. She couldn't win.

Quinn applied pressure but before the needle broke any skin, she stopped.

_"Do you have to go?"_

Her tongue ran over her lips as she stared down at her arm.

Quinn took one of her boots off and lifted her leg up on the counter. She pumped some hand sanitizer and rubbed it over the side of her foot this time. The needle was piercing through her skin seconds later.

X

Quinn was back in the living room a little while later, suitably buzzed. She was finishing off another drink when she started hearing Rachel's voice again.

She looked around, half expecting to see her right there, but none of the bodies in sight looked anything like her so Quinn closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the couch.

She heard Rachel again.

"Take your hand off me."

Quinn sat forward and scanned her eyes around. They were serious as they scrutinised the crowd but it came up short. She couldn't see her. It must be someone who sounded like her. It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities. It happened all the time. Quinn's rigid posture began to slacken until she heard it:

"If you don't take your hand off of me, I'll be forced to scream. Do you know how loud I can be? I will strip the paint from these walls!"

She was on her feet before Rachel had finished speaking.

Quinn had to walk across the room and past a large group of people blocking her view before she saw Rachel trapped against the wall, a taller woman pressed against her. Quinn pulled the unwanted hand away from Rachel's body and waited until the other woman turned around.

"Get lost," Quinn said.

The woman walked away with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel's eyes were full of gratitude. "Thank you, Quinn. I didn't want to have to resort to—"

"Rachel, what are you doing here?"

She stared for a second. Wasn't it obvious why she was willingly subjecting herself to that kind of toxic environment? "I'm taking you home."

"You can't be here."

"Evidently, I am."

"I told you not to come."

"Forgive me for sounding childish but you rarely listen to me, so why should I listen to you? Given the dangerous circumstances you're in, there's nowhere else I'd be."

"Hey, Quinn, where are you? Come over here," Francis called loudly.

"That's why," Quinn said.

"I-is that Francis?" Rachel asked, trying to see over Quinn's shoulder. Anger hardened her face. "Give me five minutes, Quinn. I'll meet you outside." Her resolve was firm but she found she couldn't move when she tried.

"You're not talking to him."

"Quinn!" Francis yelled.

Quinn reached down and found Rachel's hand, speaking quietly. "Come with me." Rachel's focus was still split. She couldn't help but look over at Francis with enough hatred to set him alight. Quinn tipped her head down so her mouth was next to Rachel's ear, shattering any determination that had been in place. "Please."

They walked through the crowd quickly, Rachel following as Quinn held tight to her hand. It was packed in the downstairs hallway but they could hear Francis calling after Quinn over the noise. Quinn didn't stop once they reached the front door. As soon as they were breathing the night air, she broke into a run.

Rachel was the first one to slow, only having made it to the end of the block. She didn't envisage sprinting at any point during the night, and her pair of heels was wildly inappropriate. "Quinn, wait," Rachel pleaded, right as another voice called out. Francis had followed them.

"Where's the fire?"

"Don't turn around," Quinn said sharply. "Walk faster."

"He's not going away."

"He will."

"Oh, now you're just ignoring me!" Francis shouted after her.

"This is why you shouldn't have come, Rachel."

"This is exactly why I did." An image appeared in Rachel's head, slow at first, until the outline bled into a vivid, solid form. They turned the corner and she let go of Quinn's hand but Quinn refused to let go of hers. "Give me your jacket."

"Why?"

"Hurry, before he sees us."

Quinn didn't slow her pace but she did let go of Rachel's hand and take her jacket off, passing it over as soon as it was away from her body. It looked good on Rachel. Any other time and Quinn would have taken more than a second to admire her in it, but they were being followed and she had to find a way to get as far away as possible or for Francis to get bored and leave her be. But that was unlikely. If he'd followed, it was for good reason. Her eyes widened.

She'd left without paying him.

Her panic was internal but not unsubtle. Rachel could see it in her eyes. "Hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not. Stay here, I have to talk to him."

Rachel's head shook defiantly. "No."

"I have to." Quinn couldn't go very far when this time it was Rachel who was crushing her hand in a vice grip.

"I said no." Rachel's voice sounded different to how Quinn had ever heard it before. It was cutting and demanding, and it left no room for disagreement. But it was like she sighed out her control because a second later she was back to pleading. "Stay with me."

"Rachel, any second and he's going to see you. I have to go."

Rachel didn't have any problem seeing Francis. Truth be told, if she couldn't see how much Quinn currently despised the idea of the two of them spending a moment in each other's company, Rachel would have turned around and marched towards him. Instead, she turned to Quinn. "So I'll hide in plain sight."

"What?"

"Trust me?" Rachel walked forward, gently backing Quinn into a wall. "I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable. Set the pace and I'll follow it."

But Rachel was already so _close_ , looking at her with those big brown eyes and it was like inhaling and exhaling was done with conscious thought because Quinn found herself unable to do either for a moment. She was nodding her consent before she'd remembered how to take another breath. Quinn glanced to the left and saw a long shadow growing shorter. Her hands found Rachel's hips and she pulled her forward until they were pressed together. She guided Rachel's hand underneath her top, only high enough for it to look interesting. She wasn't going to force Rachel to grope her against a wall.

Quinn could feel her heart thrashing in her chest and the pressure of Rachel's hand against her skin with each shallow breath.

One of Quinn's hands shot underneath the jacket and pushed up Rachel's top in the process, but she didn't care at the moment. She would have to apologise afterwards. She gripped at Rachel's back and used her other hand to clutch the back of her neck, pulling Rachel's mouth against her neck so that her face was hidden.

"There you are." Francis sounded irritated at having to follow her.

He walked towards them and Quinn's breath got stuck in her throat when Rachel's lips parted and moved against her skin, pressing a single slow kiss to her neck.

"What do you want?" It came out harsh but she couldn't have him thinking his presence was appreciated, or that she'd intentionally left without settling her bill.

He saw the woman attached to Quinn's neck and took the time to appreciate the show. So that's why she'd left in such a hurry. He supposed he could understand to a certain degree; from what he could tell, the other woman had a hot little body. But he could still blame Quinn for her stupidity, which only appeared in large bursts, it seemed. Like when she tried to quit using altogether, or when she'd try to brush him off without reimbursing him.

"You're busy," he commented.

"Yeah, so if there's a point to you being here..."

"Your payment came up short," he said smoothly in front of the company they were in. "I was just making sure you hadn't forgotten."

It was difficult to come off as nonchalant when Rachel's hand moved under her top, but she did her best to appear somewhat apologetic. "Shit, I did." Her eyes felt heavy when Rachel kissed her again but she kept them open when she realised Francis was watching them. "I'll come over tomorrow. When's good for you?" she asked, giving him a sense of control over the situation. She found it to be a good tactic in the past.

"Keep your schedule open; I'll let you know," Francis answered, approaching them slowly. There was a gleam in his eyes, taking in everything he could see. It wasn't often that Quinn allowed herself to be seen in public like this. The woman attached to Quinn's front was intriguing him more than anything and he found his eyes raking over her. Luckily, he was too preoccupied to spot the daggers Quinn was sending him.

He stopped behind Rachel and reached out to pull her hair away from her neck.

Rachel knew he was there. Part of her was begging him to lay a finger on her and give her an excuse to use her pepper spray.

Francis had to admit he was a little disappointed when Quinn's hand blocked his way to the other woman. If only he'd spotted that hot body first. He didn't recall seeing her at the party at all.

"Three's a crowd, Francis," Quinn said, steering herself and Rachel away from the wall where she captured a smaller hand and began walking away from him. "You know I don't share."

"Tomorrow," he reminded.

She would do well to remember.


	10. Spiral

Quinn didn't keep turning to look behind as they walked away, but she also didn't let go of Rachel's hand. She waited until they were far enough away to ask if Rachel was okay but the positive response did little to ease her worry. Quinn felt wound tight, like the next time she had to rein it in and suppress how she was really feeling she would unravel at an alarming speed. But she would manage for now, ignoring Rachel's pleas to slow down. There was no way. She fired off a quick text message, or as quick as she could using only one hand.

Rachel looked up at Quinn's building. They were walking past it.

"Quinn, you're going past it."

"I know where I'm going."

"Well, I don't. Care to enlighten me?"

"No."

Rachel glanced behind them, failing wholeheartedly in her attempt to make it surreptitious. They stepped into the road and she stumbled at the unexpectedness of it but Quinn still did not slow or look back at her, just held tight as ever to her hand and continued on. "He's not here," Rachel said softly. "He hasn't followed us, Quinn. We can stop now."

"There's no 'we' here, Rachel. It's just me, and I say what we do next."

"That's not fair. God, stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

"I'm not," Quinn denied, stepping back up to the opposite sidewalk. "You don't know Francis."

Rachel sounded inordinately naive when she let out a puff of air and said, "I'm pretty sure I do." They were getting further away from Quinn's apartment and she couldn't help but think that it was the wrong move to make. The best thing to do would be to go and collect Quinn's things and demand for her to stay with her temporarily until they find her a new apartment, but she knew that wasn't going to happen when Quinn was this wound up. "What good is going to come of us walking around the city at this time of night?" she asked. "We should go back to your place before we're kidnapped for ransom, or murdered."

"Who's going to kidnap us?" Quinn asked cynically.

"I don't know. Freaks are everywhere. I'm very valuable." Quinn clamped her mouth shut and Rachel's insides twisted for several minutes, looking over to her more than their surroundings. Rachel waited until she could no longer stand it. "Where are we going?"

A question had also been on the tip of Quinn's tongue. "How did you find me?"

"I followed you," Rachel admitted sheepishly. Then with a burst of conviction, she added, "And it's a good job I did."

"You did what?"

"I followed you. It took a while for me to build up the courage to walk inside, and I couldn't find you right away, but..." She watched her process that and surmised that the reason Quinn looked so angry was because she hadn't listened to her. "I know you're mad." There was a light scoff. "You can be mad at me, Quinn; just don't think that I'd do anything differently because of it."

"I thought you'd listen to me if I—" Quinn's clipped tone stopped abruptly and she shook her head. "Forget it."

"If you were honest about your past?" Rachel asked gently. "I thought about it. I thought about having a quiet night in tonight, but all I could picture was eating junk food and watching a movie while you get so wasted at a party that you— that you don't ever make it home. So I couldn't. I couldn't listen to you when _that_ could be a repercussion. And I won't apologise for it, so if you're waiting for one you'll be waiting a long time."

Quinn still wasn't happy but she didn't think she could say anything to counter that.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

When Quinn slowed down and finally let go of her hand, Rachel looked up at an unfamiliar apartment block and was about to ask where they were when she caught sight of an older man. His hair was greying and his dark skin was wrinkled around the eyes.

"Hey, baby girl."

Rachel was in the middle of wondering how old he was while giving him a pitiful, unappreciated onceover, when she caught sight of Quinn's smile. Maybe it wasn't a random stranger, after all.

"Hey."

"Thought you were headin' out tonight?"

"I was. Things got... This is Rachel," Quinn introduced.

A smile slowly worked itself onto Jackson's face and stayed there as he regarded the woman standing beside Quinn, still wearing the jacket. "The stories I've heard, Miss Rachel," he said, holding out his hand. "It's nothing less than an honour."

Rachel stared back, a little bewildered but always pleased to meet a potential fan. She was hesitant to take his hand but Quinn seemed at ease around him, so she tried for rational. If Quinn wasn't afraid, she shouldn't be either. Right? Rachel hoped she looked friendly when she said, "I-I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are."

Quinn smirked. "It's Jackson." Rachel's smile faltered.

Jackson wasn't blind. He released her hand when she seemed uncomfortable. "What can I do for you ladies?"

"Can we crash here tonight?" Quinn asked.

Rachel tried not to react with such fervour, she really did. And so what came out of her mouth was a garbled, somewhat stifled sound. Quinn lifted an eyebrow in response.

"What now?"

"You expect me to stay _here_?" Despite any untoward feelings for Jackson, Rachel was raised properly. She took her eyes off Quinn for a moment. "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, Jackson, it's just that—"

"It's just, what?" Quinn demanded. "Now's not the time to be picky over your accommodation. If you wanted to stay in a four star place, you should have stayed home."

Surprise crossed Rachel's face and she stood straighter. "I couldn't care less about that. For a second —just one, I promise— why don't you consider how your story from last night ties in to this place and why I would be opposed to setting foot in there?"

"Forget about it."

"I will not."

"Look, Rachel... either you get into a cab that takes you home, or you stay here with me tonight. There's no way I'm going back with you: to your apartment or mine."

"We're going to your place," Rachel stated, ignoring her altogether. "As it's so late, I think it's best if we stay at yours until the morning when we can—"

" _No_ , we're not," Quinn gritted out.

"That wasn't a question."

Quinn looked to Jackson and he glanced away quickly, like he hadn't been amused and engrossed in whatever was happening. "You're not coming back with me because it's already late and we'll talk and have a drink and it will be even later. You're already under the impression that you can stay the night."

"I don't see a problem."

"The problem is Francis could wake me with a text telling me he's right outside my apartment."

Rachel stared. "So?"

"So, it's not exactly going to be cosy to have you pretending to be asleep on the couch while..."

"While, what? You hand over the few measly bucks you make at that crap-hole diner? No, I don't image it will be, but I'll sleep better knowing I'll be with you. It makes me sick to think of you alone with him."

"That's good for you, not so good for me."

"I don't care," Rachel said bluntly. "I have a busy day tomorrow and I'd prefer actually getting some beauty sleep. That's not going to happen unless you come back with me or I come back with you."

"You're being unreasonable."

"How am I being unreasonable?" Rachel's voice raised a few octaves. "I'm giving you a choice."

"It doesn't feel like much of a choice."

Rachel's shoulders lifted. "It's the best I can do. You need to hurry up and make a decision because, as I just mentioned, I need turn in and I refuse to argue about this in the street. Our combined voices are only going to draw attention and will probably result in me getting thrown in the back of a van."

"Yeah, by me if you don't shut up," Quinn said without much bite to it, staring her down. After the moment passed, she looked to Jackson. "So, can we stay here?"

"You know you don't have to ask." He chanced a glance in Rachel's direction and saw her cross her arms in protest. Quinn was the safer option. "But uh, maybe I should wait inside while you figure things out. You just come on up if you want to."

"Thank you."

Rachel didn't have a word to say about his hospitality and took off as soon as Jackson did.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"As much as I love a challenge, I don't think I would ever dare to walk all the way home in these shoes," Rachel said, by means of explanation.

"Rachel."

"Yes?"

"Do you ever get death threats from your fans?"

Rachel turned around but didn't stop walking. "They wouldn't be very good fans if they wanted me dead, Quinn. Are you coming?"

"No, and you're not going either."

"We're both walking," she pointed out, Quinn taking one step forward for each that Rachel took backward. "Heading somewhere."

"The only place you're heading is thin ice."

Rachel smiled. "What are you going to do, push me against a wall?" Quinn's face fell and she swallowed tightly, looking away. Rachel thought it was very predictable. "You should take a cue from me some time," she said, stepping back around now. "Tonight should have at least taught you the correct way to do that."

Maybe it was the jacket. Rachel didn't wear leather for obvious reasons, but even faux-leather. She couldn't tell if the jacket was real or a very good fake but it did give her a strange sense of freedom. By wearing it, she felt like her filter had been removed. Whatever she wanted to say, she'd say it. Blame it on the leather (or faux-leather).

Unfortunately, the jacket's powers didn't extend much further than making her feel like a tactless badass.

She didn't know if it was just the uncharacteristic stillness of the street but after a while the clicks of her heels cutting through the quiet added to her paranoia of being kidnapped. Rachel would never admit to being _scared_ but it was safe to say that with each step further away from Quinn she felt less safe. She couldn't hear any footsteps other than her own but that did little to ease her worry over her safety. Freaks were cunning little bastards. Who knew what kind of neglected Momma's boy was hiding around the corner?

She was a block away from Jackson's apartment now.

Rachel turned her head a fraction, trying to determine whether or not Quinn was behind her without actually looking but there were no shadows and it was still quiet. She didn't rule out the possibility of her being there —because this time she had _tried_ to be stealthy. The experiment was simply inconclusive.

She still had Quinn's key. Well, she had a copy of it. Rachel was serious when she said she wasn't going to set foot in Jackson's apartment. She didn't know him, was predisposed to not liking him anyway, and whatever personal issues he shouldered had already put her friend's life in danger. If he hadn't been as high as a kite that day then things might not have escalated to the point where Quinn needed an ambulance. It was easier to not like Jackson. It was easier to blame him.

Even if Quinn wasn't following her, Rachel knew she wouldn't let her be alone in the apartment for too long, if at all, anyway. There would be too many opportunities for her to find and flush whatever Quinn had stashed there. For a second, she hoped she was alone. She wanted so badly for Quinn's apartment to be untainted. But it was a temporary solution at best, she'd learned. The only way Quinn would ever get and stay clean would be if she truly wanted to in the first place.

Rachel came to the end of another block and stopped, hesitating.

She'd spent much of the journey there staring at the side of Quinn's head instead of paying attention to where she was going. She didn't know which way to go.

She _would_ have resorted to the wonders of the internet if Quinn hadn't strolled right past her.

Amazing.

"You could be a cat burglar," Rachel remarked after falling into place beside her. "Not that I'm advocating—"

"You're leaving at six-ten in the morning," Quinn said. "I'll wake you at six and you can have a few minutes to wake up and freshen up, figure out a ride, but then you have to go."

"Don't be moody with me just because I won't submit myself to your friend's lumpy couch for the night."

"I'm not a child, Rachel. I have a lot on my mind and your presence isn't helping."

"Don't be mean, either."

Quinn really wasn't being mean, or she wasn't trying to be. It was just that however much Rachel _got_ her sometimes, there were others when she just didn't understand at all. She couldn't blame her too much; Rachel didn't have any experience with this kind of lifestyle. Hopefully it would stay that way.

"I wish you hadn't have come," she said gently. "I know why you did," Quinn added upon hearing Rachel's intake of breath, no doubt about to launch into a tirade of how she never listened to her. But Quinn always listened. "I just wish this wasn't happening right now."

"All I did was take you out of an unsafe environment. It's not a big deal."

"It wasn't until you put yourself into it."

"Okay, fine, but now neither of us is there so, silver lining?" It was absolutely a silver lining. The biggest. Not that Quinn made even a sound of acknowledgement. The jacket's powers were activating again a minute later. Filter? What filter? "Is it a one-sided thing, being happy to see you? Because I can never tell when you're wearing your grumpy face."

Quinn's eyebrows furrowed but her face smoothed out when she saw the mischief written all over Rachel's. Tonight had been a lucky break for her. "I'm always happy to see me."

"Yeah, but what about me?" Rachel pressed. "Me, Quinn. Six whole years without so much as a glance. It's okay, you can stare. Soak it all up."

"Seeing you is... it's never a terrible thing," Quinn admitted.

"Is that high praise or a veiled insult?"

"You're still leaving at six in the morning."

"I didn't ask when kicking-out time was."

"And you know better than anyone that my insults are better than that."

How could it have possibly been one? They were way past that now. Too much had happened. Quinn was re-learning what it felt like to have someone like Rachel in her life after so long, and it felt like the best and worst thing that could possibly happen to her.

X

When they got back to Quinn's and kicked their way into the apartment, Rachel flicked the light on and stepped out of her heels. She decided to keep the jacket on for now, not because it was cold but because of how comfortable it was. She followed Quinn. "Will you look at me?"

It was a strange request but Quinn complied nonetheless. "Why?"

"Are you baked?" Rachel was close as she peered up, sounding quietly serious. Maybe that's why Quinn started to smile.

"What?"

"Your eyes are a little red."

"It's late," Quinn said objectively.

"Well, are mine red?"

The only time Quinn ever saw Rachel's eyes as anything other than bright was when she'd been crying for a long time. They were bright now, without a trace of red. She had the richest brown eyes Quinn had ever seen. "No, they're brown."

"I think you're baked," Rachel stated. "Maybe not all the way through, but you're definitely something. At first I thought your friends had a smoke machine in the kitchen —which I appreciated both as an actress and for my grand entrance, but then the smell hit me. I'm not an idiot. And I could... smell it on your neck."

It hadn't smelled the same against Quinn's skin, but it was still there. Rachel didn't tell her that she thought she'd also tasted it because she didn't know if Quinn wanted to discuss what happened earlier and because she wasn't sure if it was purely psychological. Judging from the way it hadn't been brought up yet, it wasn't a topic Quinn wanted to talk about.

"Okay..."

"You don't believe me?" Rachel leaned her head to the side, exposing her neck. "Smell me." Quinn eyed the skin but didn't move. "Come on."

"No, thanks."

"Because you know I'm right?" There was a triumphant look on Rachel's face now.

"You're not wrong," Quinn confessed. "I didn't say you were. But it's also late and you're leaving early to start that big day you have planned, so you should get some sleep."

"I don't want you around marijuana, Quinn."

"Just that?" That was something Quinn actually felt confident she could renounce. It was a substance she used sporadically and was always a good way for her to relax but she didn't consider herself dependant on it.

"Any of it. All of it."

"Ronnie gave me my first joint."

Rachel nodded just barely as she processed the information. "When?"

"The summer before senior year."

"Did she... I-I mean, she forced you, right?"

"No," Quinn denied. "I asked her, more than once. She kept telling me to think about it again and speak to her about it the next day. I know you think Ronnie and the girls were to blame for that year and maybe a little for now too, but they're not. That's all me. They were part of the reason I at least graduated high school." She could tell Rachel wasn't having any of it. It was hardly a secret that she'd hated those girls back then.

"Those _Skanks_ were the reason you graduated? I'm sorry; didn't they all repeat their last year?" Rachel tried not to react like this but it was the jacket. Or maybe Quinn was right, she did blame those girls back then and she still blamed them now. She couldn't help it. "Your actual friends, you know, me and everyone else who apologised to you last night worked harder to get you to care about school than those girls ever did."

"You didn't like them because you thought they were different to you, but that doesn't mean they were," Quinn said patiently. "Different circumstances and opportunities, who do you think you'd be? Who would any of us be?"

"I would never pick on people or rob them for whatever money they had, okay. I would never be a thug."

"They weren't—"

"Ronnie and Sheila ended up in prison, Quinn."

"You told me Puck went to jail."

"Only briefly."

"But he still went. He was still stupid enough to put himself in that position," Quinn said. "The only difference between him and them is that you know Puck, so you're trying to defend him. I don't know why Ronnie and Sheila were or are inside but I do know they're idiots either way. But in school, at a time when I needed them, they were there for me. They didn't judge me by my past or how my future would end up."

Rachel's eyes widened. "They should have! Quinn, if they were your friends, they should have cared about your future."

Their conversation had rapidly taken a turn towards ugly but Quinn wasn't allowing herself to react as defensively as she could do. It was nothing to fight over. "They wanted me to graduate; they just didn't make me believe that it was the end of the world if I didn't."

Rachel's face went still. "Did I make you feel like that?"

"Sometimes."

"I never meant to. It was... You were so smart and you had so much potential, and I couldn't stand for you to throw it all away. That all still applies, by the way."

"I know you didn't."

"You do?"

"I understand it better now than I did back then," Quinn answered. "But I told you about my first experience with pot because I saw the way you looked at Jackson tonight and I want you to understand that I'm responsible for my own actions, just like I am for the heroin and anything else that I use. Jackson, Ronnie, Sheila, Mac, none of them are to blame for me being here. That's what I was trying to tell you last night." It was nothing less than a miracle that Rachel was still quiet. "Jackson's important to me, I don't want you to hate him."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not terrible to have you around."

X

Rachel did leave early the next morning, however reluctantly, but she managed to get Quinn to agree on a time to meet at the studio after work and squeeze in a hug before she left. It wasn't returned the way she wanted it to be; to have Quinn's arms wrapped all around her, but her touch was no longer shrunk away from. Quinn would just have to work her way up to the real thing.

Rachel met with Mercedes and Tina for brunch later that morning.

While Mercedes was happily taken and Rachel was content with being unattached, Tina had been flirting with one of the cuter server's and their service had been prompt and plentiful, leading them to eating so much that none of them would be hungry until at least dinner.

Mercedes nearly choked on a bite when Rachel answered her question of what she'd been up to the night before.

"You did _what_?"

"You sound like Quinn."

Tina was also staring at her like she had two heads. "You're such an idiot."

"Still sounding like her." Rachel rolled her eyes and swallowed a rather large mouthful of orange juice. "She wasn't happy about it either. But despite that, I really feel like it turned out to be one of our most successful outings. She even woke me up carefully with a really thoughtful shoulder rub —you know how easily I scare when woken abruptly— when I had all my money on the fact that she'd slam a door, or something."

"She should have," Tina said. "Right against your head. How could you be so stupid?"

Rachel was suddenly grateful she had decided to leave Francis following them out of the story. The knife next to Tina's hand might have gone through the back of Rachel's otherwise.

"I was worried, so I decided on a practical approach to getting her away from that place. It seemed more effective than just sitting around wishing she was in a safer environment."

"We're not mad about that," Mercedes said, still looking cross. "We're mad because you didn't call us. We would have gone with you."

Tina nodded her agreement.

Rachel smiled hesitantly, slowly brightening up. "Really?"

"Really," Tina echoed. "You're an idiot, but you're still our idiot. Anything could have happened to you."

"Guys, that's so sweet."

"Is Quinn coming to work later?" Mercedes asked. "We need to get her to talk some sense into you."

"You're blowing this out of proportion. I'm fine, Quinn's fine, everything is fine." Well, no, it wasn't, but they knew what she meant.

"You're only okay because of sheer damn luck. I like to brag that Rachel Berry is one of my nearest and dearest, not that she _was_ one of my nearest and dearest. Next time you want to play hero, make sure you have a sidekick."

"Okay, I will. I promise."

Tina stabbed her fork into Rachel's bowl of fruit and came away with a large chunk of pineapple. "Quinn's showing her face today, right?"

"Why, are you going to spear her with a fork?"

"Is she?" Tina pushed, wearing a smirk.

"Later."

"How's she doing? She's not doing good, I know, because she's still, you know," Mercedes alluded to her drug use by dipping her head and raising her eyebrows because they were in public and sometimes the wrong people overheard private conversations. "But how is she?"

"In some ways she is exactly where she was the first time I saw her again, and in others she's changing. I know it all sounds sketchy but I promise Quinn's different when it's just us. She's softer when she doesn't think she's constantly being judged. I mean, you guys saw her the other night."

"Are you still working on that project?"

"It's not like I take a day off."

"Progress?"

"I'll let you know when anything happens," Rachel promised. "I might even resort to sky writing."

She was being modest. If Quinn showed any signs of getting clean Rachel would take a drive and Maria Von Trapp her way around a field.

X

The text came an hour before Quinn was due at the diner.

It was unexpected in the way that it wasn't even eleven AM. She thought Francis would leave her hanging for the better part of the day, until she was squirming with the desire to call or text him first just to get it over with. It was a good thing. She had better things to do than wait around for him.

Quinn answered him that she would be there soon and called in sick to work. She didn't know how much of her time he'd want but to be on the safe side she left the rest of her day wide open.

Either way, she'd be able to meet everyone at the studio earlier than planned.

That was a recurrent thought inside her head as she made the journey to his house, walking past the cars lining his street until she bypassed most of the path leading to the front door by crossing the front lawn instead, thinking how tiny it was compared to hers back in Ohio.

She knocked on the door and he was there a few seconds later, greeting her in only a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips.

"Hey."

Quinn walked past the door he held open for her and went into the living room. He had music on —some radio station she'd heard him listening to before— and a cigarette was burning in an ash tray on the arm of the couch. She took her jacket off and sat down in the middle seat so she'd be next to him when he joined her.

Which he did do, not long after.

"You're up early," she remarked.

"Lots to do."

"They can't wait?" Quinn watched him have a long pull of the cigarette and then crush it out as he took the smoke into his lungs.

"No," Francis said, blowing it out a second later. "What are you doing today?"

"I don't know, testing my self-restraint by not maiming the shitheads who come into the diner?"

"Why bother?" Francis swigged at a bottle of water. "Drop some coffee. A few second-degree burns might give those pricks some character."

"Doubt it."

"Right, you are; shattered kneecaps would make for a much longer effect. You got any regulars?"

Quinn worked with the public; most of the people who passed through the diner (and every other she'd worked at in the past) were faceless as soon as their bills were paid, but there were some who absolutely stuck out in her mind. She had good and bad regulars, supposing she was just like everyone else in that line of work.

Quinn scrunched her face up. "Not really."

"That's a damn shame," he said, and Quinn laughed delicately.

"I know."

"So, how you feeling this morning?"

She shrugged. "Good."

Francis began to smirk. "Good night last night?"

"Mmm."

"D'you remember her name?"

Quinn worked a smile to her face. "Uh..."

"Oh, bad job," he chided lightly. "Always remember those names, love."

"Sorry about last night. I got kind of swept up and I forgot to say goodbye before I left." Her hand squeezed inside her pocket to pull out some folded bills. She leaned over him to put them next to the ash tray. "It's all there."

"I told you not to, didn't I?"

"I know, I'm sorry."

Francis smiled, and it wasn't one of his nicer smiles. It wasn't cheeky or boyish or charming. "What am I supposed to do with a verbal apology?"

"I thought you'd say that." She added another thirty bucks to the pile of bills by the ash tray. "It won't happen again."

"I know it won't." He counted the money so quickly that she wondered how he even registered the amount. "You're still short. A hundred might do it."

A rush of air escaped her. "You're mad?"

"Oh, no. I don't ever get angry. What a waste of energy, you know?"

"Francis, I can't... you know I don't have a hundred bucks to throw around."

"I know," he placated. "That's why I reminded you last night. I did do that, didn't I? That wasn't my imagination?"

"You did, it's just—"

"It's just you ran off with a hot lady," Francis finished for her. "I don't blame you, Quinn. From the back, she was a stunner. I could only dream about her front last night. But you broke your promise as soon as you left that house, so this isn't something I should feel guilty about, is it?"

"No, it was my fault. I know that," Quinn said. "That's why I already gave you extra."

"It's not enough."

"I can pay you in instalments but I can't give it you all right now. Rent's due in a couple of days."

Francis' hand came to settle on her thigh. "Don't look so worried. You know you're one of my favourites. There's a way around the money."

"I'll pay you," she insisted.

"You just said you can't afford it. I'm not a bank; I don't want my money paid back in instalments. That's not how I operate this business. I want it all back today or we can go to option B."

For all the good it did, Quinn tried to discipline her face not to look so anxious. "I'll get it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Francis mulled that over. "I'm impressed. If you're this resourceful, I can put my prices up permanently, can't I? If you'll always find a way not to disappoint me."

Quinn exhaled heavily. She knew it would come down to this. It was all she could think about on the way home last night and the reason she was awake for most of it. "Francis, I can't..."

"So, let's go to option B. Get creative."

"I'm not feeling very creative this morning."

"You know I'm always good to you."

"I know," Quinn was quick to respond. "It's nothing personal; I'm just not in the mood."

He turned in his seat and threw one arm up on the back of the couch, resting around her shoulders. He didn't see any reaction when the back of his finger stroked over her cheek. "You're only saying that because you're not warmed up yet," Francis said, convincing himself. He held her face and leaned down to claim her mouth.

It wasn't a wanted advance, especially when his tongue forced its way past her lips, but she gave in and kissed him back. She had to. Francis was a reliable supplier. She'd never brought from anyone other than him and the thought of getting to know any other guys like him always put her off. He wasn't always like this, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was, even when he was nice to her, Quinn hated him. She hated his power and influence and the way he grabbed at her body when he couldn't get some anywhere else, or when he was reminding her who was in control. She hated the way she couldn't stop going back to him for a hit. No matter how hard she tried, she ended up back there when her supply was too low for her liking.

So, she kissed him back and hoped it would be enough for today. She really wasn't in the mood. Like he could ever put her in it. As soon as it became clear to her that it wouldn't be, a familiar wave of nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't solely at the thought of sex with him. A larger part of it was at her own actions.

Francis pulled her onto his lap and pushed his fingers through her hair. He looked at her neck before he pressed his lips to it. The woman from last night hadn't marked her neck so he decided to. He knew Quinn hated it but then, she knew how much he hated not to be paid on time so they were pretty even as far as he was concerned.

Quinn's eyes were open, trying to burn a hole through a wall if the fire in them was anything to go by, but she squeezed them shut when she felt one of his hands pulling at the hem of her top.

She didn't look at him when he pulled it off and dropped it to the floor, or when he unclasped her bra a few minutes later.

It didn't take long for him to get ready when Quinn was half undressed on top of him for an extended amount of time. The softness of her skin under his kiss and touch, the way she kissed him. He wouldn't consider himself a man if that didn't affect him.

"God, your mouth," he muttered when she released his bottom lip from between her teeth.

Quinn considered her words before saying, "I can't stay, I have work soon. I need the money."

"You can have your money back. All of it. This is always a better payment."

"Keep it. Please. We can finish this next time."

"You're really not in the mood?" He started to smile. "God, what's wrong with you?"

She climbed off his lap and rubbed a hand through her hair. It was a good sign that he'd let her move away. "I have to go soon. I don't want to start something I can't finish."

Francis unbuttoned his jeans lifted his hips up, pulling and kicking the material off so he was clad in nothing but his boxers. "You're underestimating your talents," he said. "Get on your knees." He saw the frown cross her face. "Five minutes, Quinn."

"Francis..."

"You're not saying no, are you? We were having a good time."

"I'm not saying no," she answered quietly, rewarded by one of his deep kisses.

"Right, so are you kneeling or am I lying down?"

Quinn tried to clear her mind when she kneeled between his open legs. She tried to imagine a life for herself where she wouldn't be in this position but she fell short with the lack of time. Like there would ever be enough of that to delude herself into thinking she would have been free of this life if only for a few bad choices. No, every path would have ended up here. She'd always be weak enough to find herself here.

"Take them off," Francis prompted when her hands were still, resting over his boxers high on his thighs.

Quinn would have done it even if he didn't ask. But she made the mistake of looking up at him when he was completely bare, eyes closed in anticipation, and something flared up inside of her because no, she was not in the mood for this. She didn't know why, but she'd never wanted to stop the way she did now.

Without his eyes on her, she was free to glare up coldly.

With that little bit of freedom, it was difficult not to push for a little more.

Too difficult.

"You're such a pathetic asshole."

Francis opened his eyes. "You're the one on your knees."

"I'm going to get clean."

He chuckled lowly. "Women can be funny or they can be pretty. Now, I don't care much for funny girls, but, luckily for you, you're hotter than the sun. Start using that pretty mouth for the right reasons, yeah? Like I'm sure you did last night."

With his words, images of Rachel's face bombarded Quinn's mind and, once there, refused to leave. She'd been actively blocking her out for hours and seeing her again, even merely inside her own head, ignited a passionate reaction from Quinn. She needed Francis but she didn't have to act happy about doing this.

He was always pushy —and she always let him be— but this time she couldn't take it.

Her fingers dug into his skin. "You want to be careful I don't bite it off."

Francis was moving in a second, pushing her to the floor. His hands went straight for her belt buckle and he kept his eyes locked on hers blazing up at him, chest heaving. She wasn't telling him to stop so he didn't until she was naked underneath him.

His weight was solid against Quinn and she took any opportunity to push her nails into his skin and score downward. And when he kissed her, hers were hard in return. Francis's wandering hands were rough and the way his mouth moved against her neck didn't feel right.

"You're wearing a condom," she ordered. "Find one or fuck yourself."

Francis bit her neck and pulled away long enough to root through the pockets of his jeans discarded on the floor. She watched him roll a condom down his length because she needed to see it to be sure it was on and there would be no chance of a baby-sized accident.

He settled back on top of her and kissed her deeply, just once, before reaching down between their bodies.

"Wait," Quinn bitingly, and his movements halted. She curved her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him forward so his mouth was back against her neck, then moved one of his hands and put it underneath her breast. "I'm not ready. Kiss me again, slower, softer." Quinn's eyes closed when he complied and she started to use her imagination for the rest of it.

X

Rachel was happy.

Another of their other group numbers had been recorded, sans Quinn's vocals but that would all change in a few hours.

She was in the studio, alone because the gang were on a much deserved break, either out getting a drink or seeing a movie, and the others were on an equally deserved dinner break. Rachel still wasn't very hungry so she'd given Mercedes strict instructions to bring her back a salad for dinner that she could put in the fridge until she wanted it.

Rachel was on her phone, answering questions from her fans between some vocal warm-ups.

Her fans were so lovely to her, she thought as she scrolled through some of the messages with a smile upon her face. Such sweet guys and gals. She always ignored the odd few messages from fans describing in obscene detail just how they wanted to fuck her.

One of Rachel's fans was so excited that she was recording new music that she didn't dare to believe it until she could see or hear it with her own eyes and ears. Rachel thought the video they'd released online and the various interviews she'd done so far should have been enough proof that she was indeed working again, but if it wasn't? Well, it was her duty to put the girl's mind at ease. Rachel walked into the recording booth and held the phone away from her grinning face as she snapped a shot.

If that didn't convince sixteen-year-old Gabriella from Colorado, a self-professed dork and music lover according to her profile page, that she was, in fact, _deadly_ serious, nothing would.

Rachel was in the restroom fifteen minutes later, staring at the skin rippling on her hands as she held them underneath one of the powerful hand driers installed in there. It was disgusting yet oddly fascinating. Her hands had been bone dry for the past thirty seconds.

When she did manage to drag herself away, it was with full intent to finish her scales and get ready for when the producer also got back off his dinner break.

She wasn't even in the lobby when a familiar voice met her ears.

"Touch me again and you'll need stitches."

Well, that wasn't very nice. Rachel emerged from around a corner and spotted Melissa and Quinn.

Melissa flushed red but thrust the clipboard out. Maybe she wouldn't be trying to force a pen into Quinn's hand again anytime soon. "I need you to sign this."

"And I need you to never speak to me again."

Rachel approached them warily; gently taking the clipboard and pen from Melissa's outstretched hand as she wrote Quinn's name down and signed after it. "There you go, Melissa."

"I don't know if I can accept this again, Miss Berry. Protocol prohibits—"

Quinn stalked forward, stopped only by Rachel's hand on her shoulder. "You know what I want you to do with that protocol?"

Melissa took a step backwards to be certain she was out of harm's way. "I'll call Barold," she threatened.

"I'll call the mafia."

It was highly unlikely that Quinn was involved with any of New York's mafia and Rachel was certain Quinn was bluffing when she looked at her. Quinn looked furious, yes, but she could usually tell when she was blatantly lying. Melissa wasn't as well clued in; she'd paled.

"She will do no such thing, Melissa, don't worry," Rachel said. "Why don't you get back to work and leave this to me?" She led Quinn towards their regular studio lounge and closed the door behind them. She watched Quinn go straight for one of the couches and pick up a magazine. "You're early."

"Yeah."

"Really early. Not that it's a— I'm glad you're here. Did your shift finish early?" Rachel obviously had never worked in a diner. Quinn's shifts would never finish early unless the place was on fire, and even then she figured it'd be fifty-fifty. Quinn's eyes were fixed on the magazine, already interested by an article if the silence was anything to go by. "Will you at least say hello?"

"Hello."

Rachel picked up her cup of coffee and joined her. "I like your scarf," she said casually, reaching up to touch the material for a second. "Did you see Francis yet?"

"Yep," Quinn sighed.

"Was it okay?"

"Fine."

"What did he—"

"Stop with the twenty questions. It was fine, I'm fine."

Rachel released the bottom lip from inside her mouth and looked down to the article Quinn was reading. "That's a good one. Very informative. Turns out I've been buying the wrong face cream for my skin-type all along. Should we do the quiz and see what your results are?" Okay, that question had slipped out but at least it was a general one.

"No."

"It could be really useful."

Quinn wanted to scream at her. For a second, she was certain she was going to. But instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and held it there before exhaling steadily. It seemed to calm her a little. "Rachel, can you... I said no. Can you accept that the first time and let it go?"

The fragility of her tone surprised Rachel seeing as it wasn't a few minutes ago that she'd walked in on Quinn about to send Melissa into an early, fear-induced grave. She nodded dumbly. "I— yeah. Sure."

She decided to sit with Quinn until the group got back. They'd been gone over an hour already so some of them would be back soon. Rachel was under the impression that Quinn didn't exactly want to talk now but she didn't think she would be too opposed to her chatting. "We finished another one of the group numbers today. Well, it'll be done when your vocals are on there but for the most part... And I'm recording my solo tonight. I was warming up before you got here; that and sending photographic evidence to a sceptic in Colorado."

Rachel went through what she considered the more interesting aspects of her day and how glad she was that Quinn had arrived a few hours earlier. She wanted Quinn there the way she wanted the rest of her friends there, and it would also hopefully mean she'd be able to get to bed earlier.

By the time she'd finished telling her two wildly unrelated tales about a new flavour of soy milk she'd brought at the store and an invitation to a movie premiere in a few weeks, Rachel noticed that Quinn hadn't even turned the page. She put her empty coffee cup on the floor and her fingers had barely touched Quinn's back before her touch was being shrunk away from.

"Don't," Quinn said.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked carefully.

"Nothing."

"You've been reading that article for a while. Do you care about face cream that much?"

Quinn didn't even realise the magazine was still open. She'd been staring through it, thankful that Rachel took so long to say pretty much anything and hoping she would start talking about a life plan or something equally as time-consuming. But she hadn't. Rachel had noticed something was wrong and was there with her gentle touches and concerned tone.

The magazine was tossed away. It landed on the floor somewhere away from them and Quinn ran a hand through her hair.

"Please tell me if there's something wrong, Quinn." Rachel was patient but then she noticed something. "Why won't you look at me?"

"Where is everyone?" Quinn asked, suddenly realising they were alone. She looked around but didn't exactly anticipate any of them to be hiding across the room.

"Quinn."

"What?" she answered, a little sharply.

"Look at me, please. Why are you here so early?" Rachel didn't expect her to comply but there was a sigh and then Quinn's eyes fixed to hers momentarily.

"I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

Quinn's reason wasn't forthcoming. She ignored the question altogether. "Do you want to rehearse?"

Rachel had been rehearsing all day but she still perked up a little. "With you?" she asked as Quinn got up and started walking towards the adjacent studio.

"No, I want to listen. But I'll sit with you."

That was new.

But if something was wrong and Quinn asked her to sing, Rachel would never have dreamed of saying no. The power of music would never cease to amaze her and she would gladly offer some of that to Quinn. A few years ago, on some lonely night that she barely remembered now, it had been a dream of hers to sing with all of her old friends; for them all to figure out their schedules to make a reunion happen where they could _all_ be together again instead of just a handful. A natural disaster was not what she hoped for, but terrible circumstances aside, Rachel was thankful to be with them all again.

"Quinn, is... is this about last night?" Rachel was visibly worried. "If I did something to make you uncomfortable, I'd hope you'd be honest with me so that I could—"

"No."

"It's not?"

Quinn was on the floor now, leaning against the wall. She drew her legs up close to her body. "No."

"We could talk," Rachel suggested hopefully, wanting to do anything to make Quinn stop looking so miserable. "Before everyone gets back, and I can rehearse later."

"I don't want to talk."

Rachel didn't push it any further.

She moved around the studio, knowing how some of the buttons worked and pretended for the rest. It was recording but it didn't need to be perfect so she didn't worry about the small stuff; though halfway through she did decide that it was her most successful practice yet (and she wasn't modest enough not to consider every practice pretty much flawless).

The microphone was facing away from Quinn but she looked around once, after probably only two minutes, and Quinn's head was against her knees. Rachel didn't interrupt the song but she did stare at her for a few seconds, hoping she'd look up.

She didn't, but Rachel sang to her anyway, thinking that even if this didn't end up being the final cut of the song she would still never get that image of Quinn out of her head every time she'd hear or have to sing it.

And when the song was over a couple of minutes later and she realised Quinn was crying, unable to stop by the sound of it, Rachel dropped to her knees beside her and put her arm around Quinn's shoulders, pulling her close to her chest. Rachel always hated how easily she cried herself; she would shed tears for so many trivial things: music, television, movies, art. They weren't always bad tears. She'd had many more moments over the past six years to have tears of such overwhelming happiness that she was certain she'd burst. But the ache she felt encompass her chest was the first warning sign. She didn't let it get the better of her, though. She didn't want to be selfish.

"It's okay," she said, not really knowing if that was true but she would stay until it was.

Rachel would stay right there until Quinn's arms unwound themselves from where they'd just wrapped tightly around her body.


	11. The New Normal?

 

 

Rachel had been conflicted for the past few days.

She wasn't sure how to feel about what had happened the other day. She couldn't stick to a decision. Sometimes she felt sick with worry, wishing Quinn would tell her what'd been wrong, and then sometimes she would relax because when she was around her Quinn would act softer and more carefree than ever, like whatever it was didn't matter anymore and barely did to begin with.

Rachel had days like that. Everyone did. There was no shame in crying it out and continuing on the next day stronger because of it. But then it came back around to remembering the state Quinn had been in and how, for the first time, she reached out for comfort.

Rachel didn't have chance to ask for any specifics the other day because the gang announced their reappearance loudly, with about as much grace as a horde of rhinos, and Quinn turned away from her, wiping her face before anyone walked in and saw her like that. Even in school Quinn never liked people to see how vulnerable she was, yet, somehow, Rachel always seemed to be around when she was too tired to keep the guard up. She was there when Quinn needed reassurance over Beth, when Quinn needed to believe she was more than her looks and that some silly high school title would never matter in the real world, and when Quinn needed to be told that she still had a home in Glee club, however different she seemed to be.

After an initial period where Quinn slipped out of the lounge unnoticed —largely due to Rachel following through with a request to distract her friends long enough for Quinn to go to the restroom and freshen up, she didn't act any different. She came back a little while later with no trace that she'd broken down at all. She didn't lash out at any of them in hope for a fight. Quinn listened to the playback of their progress with the album and said only one word. Some of them might have pressed for more of a reaction if "Wow" didn't suffice but, unsurprisingly, it did.

Rachel didn't want to take her eyes off her.

Every now and then, at least for an hour afterwards when she was listening to the studio playback with her friends or preparing to get back in the recording booth with their producer almost ready, she'd wondered if she'd imagined it. There was no tangible proof it'd happened. No tears dried to Quinn's face, no quiet, defeated tone to her voice, nothing. The magazine was even on the table as Brittany and Tina flicked through it together.

If it hadn't been for the way Quinn turned to her when it was time to record the song and promised she wouldn't try to drown her with tears this time, Rachel would have questioned her mental stability.

That was a couple of days ago.

She'd got word this morning that their single was going to hit radio stations soon and to keep two or three days open because the label were so happy with their music thus far that to not shoot a music video would be a disservice, both to the main single and the cause.

Not unexpectedly, Rachel was thrilled. She loved shooting music videos. It was through one of her music videos that she met Antonio. He'd played her love interest that spent a little under four minutes of the video trying to woo her, only succeeding in the last ten seconds. Shooting a music video with all of her friends was something she'd only allowed herself to fantasize about several times over the past few years and now that it was going to be a reality very soon, she could hardly believe it.

In the midst of all the excitement surrounding work lay all of her worries over Quinn, so she decided to drop in on her at work. She'd never done it before.

The diner was relatively crowded considering the time of day but luckily two tables were available at the back. Rachel looked at her seat before she sat down at one of the tables. The red seat had a french fry on it and she used her emergency autograph pen from her purse to flick it away before sitting down. She was going to squirt some hand sanitizer onto a tissue and rub it over the table once or twice for sanitary reasons but decided not to. That's what the workers were paid for.

She looked around for Quinn but couldn't see her.

A young guy, probably only nineteen by the look of him, came over to her table and cleared the empty cup and plate from it. His nametag said Rashad.

"Is Quinn on break?"

"You know her?"

"Yes, we're very good friends," Rachel said. "From high school, actually."

"Oh. That's... cool, I guess."

She stared at him and waited patiently for any sort of elaboration on Quinn's whereabouts, but he seemed to need a prompt, so she said, "So, she's on break?"

"Huh?"

"Quinn."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, she's in the back room grabbing something to eat," Rashad said, finally making himself useful.

"What is she eating?"

Rashad didn't look comfortable talking to Rachel anymore. He looked at her warily. "I don't know."

"Would it be all right if I went back there to see her?"

"No."

"Oh," Rachel smiled, putting her hand on his arm, "I know what you must be thinking but I can assure you, Rashad, I'm an upstanding person and a model citizen. I once assisted an arrest on a guy taking off with a store's takings for the day. Well, I blindly stepped into his path and sent us both careening towards the ground, but I did sit on his chest and courageously pry the bag from his unconscious fingers."

If that wasn't enough to convince him that she should be granted permission to go back there and visit Quinn, nothing would. She was feeling confident until he backed away.

"You're really intense," he said. "And I don't do intense people, like, at all, in any setting, so I'm gonna load the dishwasher and pretend you're not here."

Rachel crossed her arms in a huff as he scampered away and a curvy woman with pretty eyes looked away from the table she was currently serving and over at her.

"Be with you in a minute, babe."

"Take your time," Rachel assured her. When the woman had turned her attention back to the people she was serving, Rachel added, "Actually, if you could just let Quinn know I'm here, I'd really appreciate it."

"Quinn?" she asked, sounding amused. "What you doing with Quinn?"

"Um— I'm not doing... we're f-friends."

"Yeah?" The woman ripped off a piece of paper from her pad and faced her. "Does she know that?"

"Why is everybody here under the impression that I'm a danger to myself, or others?"

"Maybe it's a vibe you're giving off."

"I don't vibe," Rachel said, a little indignant. "I'm harmless. An open book, too, if you wanted to know anything." The waitress made no such move to indicate that she wanted to know anything about Rachel, but of course that didn't deter her from carrying on. "My idol's Barbra, okay? If that doesn't automatically prove to you what kind of person I am, I don't know what will."

"Who? And what kind of whack name is that?"

"Streisand."

"Huh?"

" _Fanny_ doesn't automatically come to mind? Esther? Anything?"

There was a chuckle. "The Mom's gotta be one if she's going around calling her kid Barbra."

Rachel looked pained, trying to recover from losing her faith in humanity when there was a light punch to her arm. "I'm sorry, did you just physically assault me?"

"You zoned out and I have an order to put through. I was just wonderin' how you knew Quinn. You don't look like you live around here."

"What's your name?" Rachel asked.

"Georgina."

"Well, Georgina, I already told you we're friends."

"Yeah, but I don't know if I believe you. I've never seen Quinn with friends, especially ones who stutter on the word."

Rachel paid no mind to some of that. "She hasn't worked here for very long, so that doesn't mean anything. But if you must know, I've walked her home from here plenty of times. I remember seeing you in here once or twice."

"You her babe?"

"Excuse me?"

Georgina smiled when she saw an almost flustered look pass over Rachel's face. "What? You're a babe, you've gotta be someone's."

"I'm nobody's babe," Rachel said. "I'm not a swine, nobody owns me."

"Not what I meant, but whatever. Is Quinn your babe, then?"

Rachel took in a calming breath. "Okay, one more time, and I'll say it slowly in case you were dropped on your head as a child or were one of those people whose hearing was affected as a teenager by playing loud music. I am Quinn's friend. Quinn is my friend. I'm here to say hi. Could you please go tell her that I'm out here?"

Georgina grinned. "Sure, babe."

When Quinn came out of the infamous back room not two minutes later, it was a tentative smile that Rachel gave her as she sat down on an uncomfortable plastic seat opposite. Quinn looked exactly how she's looked since they met again; pale —not the kind of fair that she'd been in school, but a sickly shade of white, slighter, and a dullness to her eyes that didn't ever really go away completely, Rachel's learned, even when Quinn is smiling, which she currently was.

"Hi, back."

"Georgina spoiled my opening line?"

"You can say it again," Quinn said.

"Hi, Quinn."

"Hi, babe." The puzzled yet somewhat amused look on Rachel's face made Quinn laugh. "Sorry, Georgina told me what happened and I couldn't resist a second time. Hi, Rachel. What are you doing here?"

Rachel smiled back because it was so rare to see Quinn act like this. Rare but lovely. "I was in the neighbourhood?"

"Such a blatant lie."

"My driver got lost?"

"One last time."

"I wanted to see you," Rachel admitted. "And now that I have the top-secret information that you don't find it completely horrifying to be around me, I thought you'd appreciate a short visit. Was I wrong?"

"Are you ever?"

Rachel grinned and shook her head. "No."

Quinn moved over to the next seat and put her feet up, one arm resting on the table. She looked down at it, then turned her head to call for Rashad. He came over, casting a nervous glance to Rachel as Quinn asked him to clean the table.

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because, pea brain, I'm still on break."

Rashad zeroed in on the nearest clock and scoffed. "Yeah, for the next, what, sixteen seconds? Clean your own table."

"I'm taking last break now, too."

"We're busy, you can't do that!"

"Are you the manager, Shad?"

"No, but that doesn't—"

"Is our manager even in right now?"

Rashad began to wonder why he didn't call in sick. He'd left his bed for this. "No," he said flatly.

"Right, so I can do whatever I want," Quinn replied smoothly. "And I want to take my last break right now. If you have a problem with that, I might have a problem covering your shift that you desperately need off in a few days. Do you have a problem?"

He stared at her. "No."

When he returned to their table, it was with a cloth. Rachel's "Thank you _very_ much" only made him want to bite through his tongue so he didn't stick around any longer than it took to spray and wipe the table clean.

Quinn put her arm down on the table again now that it was clean, leaving her hand close to Rachel's. She saw her pick up a menu and hold it open with only her thumbs and forefingers. "There are only two things on that menu I know you'll eat."

Rachel lowered the menu but did not take her eyes from it. "I still want to know what you have to offer the people of New York."

Quinn took it out of Rachel's hands and held it open for her. "Are you hungry or just looking?"

"I could eat, I guess."

"The salad is good if you ignore the seventies style photo next to it. The presentation's... well, it's a salad on a plate but it looks better than that. And there's a basket of fries."

Rachel ended up ordering the fries and Quinn disappeared for a couple of minutes to rush the order through ahead of anyone else who had been waiting. She also made sure to steal a few of them when they were set down on the table, much to Rachel's delight.

"So, how are you?"

"Good," Quinn answered easily. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Are you saying that to shut me up, or do you mean it?"

"I mean it. I know how important hydration is to you."

"Quinn."

"If I said I'm good, I'm good," she restated with a smile pulling at her mouth a second later. "And you never shut up."

"It's okay if you're not," Rachel felt the need to say. "And it's okay if you need to talk about things instead of bottling them up. Should you ever need someone to listen, I'm always—"

"You're always there, I know. Thank you." Quinn brushed her hands together and then wiped her fingers on one of the napkins on the table. "There is one thing I wanted to tell you."

"What?"

"I had a dream the other night."

"About me?"

"D'you ever _not_ want to be the centre of attention?"

"Rarely," Rachel shrugged.

"And no, but it was still exciting. I haven't had a dream in... I don't know how long," Quinn divulged. "Sometimes I'll have a really bad dream, but as for your regular random nuttiness, that doesn't happen often. It was nice."

"You don't dream most nights?"

"Not in years."

Rachel couldn't imagine recurrent dreamless sleep. Her mind was always active, even in slumber. It was always running away with her, giving her the strangest, most vivid of dreams. She wasn't one of those people who needed a long time to wake up in a morning. Unless she was under a lot of stress, Rachel woke up raring to go the moment her eyes were open, instantly springing out of bed to face the day.

"Since this epic dream didn't include me in the starring role, what was it about?" she asked curiously, watching Quinn smile again. She couldn't remember it happening this frequently in a long time.

"It was the other night. I can't remember most of it anymore."

"Well, what do you remember?"

"Beth," Quinn said, stealing one last fry.

"Yeah?" Without meaning to, Rachel's voice softened and she looked hopeful, eager to hear an elaboration. The conversations she and Quinn had about Beth in the past were some of her favourites. Due to the way Quinn had been (and still was) fiercely protective over how much she shared about Beth, to hear how deeply Quinn loved her daughter had been information Rachel treasured long after their nightly talks became something of the past.

"Yeah, it was dinner time and she was, ah, she was certain she wanted lobster for dinner. And I said, 'Beth, you're five-years-old' —because she was five in the dream, 'you don't know how to eat lobster. Even I'm not sure how to eat lobster.' But she was so insistent that that's what she wanted to eat," Quinn mused.

"Did she get it?"

"I woke up before I found out."

"I'm sure she did," Rachel grinned. "Something tells me Beth has an arsenal of hang-dog expressions that she breaks out when she really wants something. Who would be able to resist?"

Quinn nodded once, seriously. "I bet she has everyone wrapped around her little finger."

"You know, when I have a really good dream, one I never want to forget, I write it down. Maybe that's something you'd think about doing?"

"I never thought about doing that," Quinn said. "I should."

"Speaking of dreams, one of mine came true this morning."

"You mean they haven't all already?"

"Not all of them," Rachel said coyly.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Yeah, but I don't know how you're going to take it. You can't freak out. You have to promise you'll be open-minded."

"I'm not making a promise that I don't know I can keep."

Rachel took a deep breath. "The label...want to fund a promo clip for us. A music video."

" _Us_ specifically?" Quinn teased, and Rachel's felt the knot in her stomach loosen.

"The group. For the single."

Quinn hadn't jumped down Rachel's throat in outrage but she didn't look outwardly thrilled about it either. "When?"

"Soon. I mean, we all knew it was more likely to happen than not, but I thought out of everyone you'd need the most time to...process."

"Can I say no?"

"You signed a contract."

"Right," Quinn sighed.

"You have nothing to worry about. We're going to have so much fun filming the video that you won't even remember you're at work." Rachel didn't think it was an appropriate time to mention the insanely long hours they'd undoubtedly have to put in for a couple of days. The end result always more than made up for a little sleepiness anyway, and having all of her oldest friends with her would give her such a rush that she wouldn't even need energy drinks to stay up so late this time around. As fun as she and her friends could make this experience for Quinn, Rachel knew how differently they would approach the new endeavour. "You don't have to be embarrassed or nervous. You're an essential part of the group and we're proud to have you."

"Are you happy there's a video?"

"I can't wait," Rachel shared, an excitable lightness taking over her face that Quinn found herself unable to look away from.

She didn't know how to react to the video news but decided that, whichever way, she'd deal with it later. However, long after Rachel left to meet some friends for a drink, Quinn found Rachel's little surprise bombarding each corner of her mind, and soon there would be nowhere to run.

X

The excitement of the upcoming video didn't die down after a couple of days.

It was all most of them could talk about when they were in the studio. Mercedes, Santana, Rachel and Kurt had a meeting with the music director a couple of days later to hear his ideas on the video concept and the chatter since then refused to die down. Quinn wasn't bothered by it. She was curious more than anything. They were so excited. Undeterrable. Not that she'd actively tried to restrain their enthusiasm, but nothing seemed to stop it.

It lifted everyone's spirits.

Nobody was throwing around fake pleasantries like they had during her first week there. Everybody genuinely seemed like they hadn't been as happy in a long time, and there were moments where anxiety latched to Quinn and she worried it wouldn't let go. But they were just that. Moments. She knew of the perfect cure to it. It gave her the luxury of being worry-free.

Rachel and Mike were in the middle of some sort of dance-off.

Suffice to say, Rachel was losing spectacularly.

Her dancing had improved undeniably since school but Mike was, well, Mike. Quinn watched along with the rest of the group, not putting any special amount of effort into not having fun. The truth was she was having a blast. The aspects she didn't like were simply ignored.

Mercedes cackled loudly at Rachel's mouth hanging agape. Mike had just sprung off the floor without the use of his arms.

"That's not fair!" Rachel bellowed just before Mike's arms wrapped around her, guiding her down to the floor.

In a grand show of effort and determination, Rachel lifted her arms and head up and heaved, trying to rock her body up off the floor. She didn't move very far. By her eighth attempt, Rachel was laughing so loudly that she gave up and rolled onto her stomach instead.

Quinn was watching her with a fond, delicate smile.

A little while later when Artie and Sam were busy recording, the others were still in the same position as they'd been for the past forty-some minutes, except this time Rachel had draped herself across the length of the table and was reading some of the positive comments from their website aloud.

Until Tina interrupted her, that is.

"Oh, crap," she complained, turning to Mercedes beside her. "We're hitting the gym tomorrow."

"So?"

"I made our mani-pedi appointments for eleven."

Mercedes seemed disappointed for only a second until she shrugged it off. "We can go another time, it's cool."

"It's for a nice place, though. It'd be a shame to let the slot go to waste," Tina said. Her girlfriends sprung to mind automatically but there was really only one person she wanted to give the slots to. "Quinn, when was the last time you had your nails done by someone other than yourself?"

"Years ago."

"Years?" Brittany asked in disbelief.

"I found other things to spend my money on," Quinn replied honestly.

Tina glanced at Mercedes to check if it was okay, and then said, "Well, do you want our slot tomorrow? I can give you the address of the place. The women there are incredible. Take someone with you."

Quinn opened her mouth to decline but her eyes drifted towards Rachel.

Rachel didn't need to be asked. "Oh, Quinn, I would love to but I can't," she said, her tone heavy with regret. "I have a video chat with some fans at twelve —the ones who raised the most money for charity, and then I have plans with Kurt and Tony."

Quinn wouldn't admit it, but she was a little disappointed. She hadn't pampered herself like that in years. Oh, well, it was probably karma. She wasn't about to cry over it.

A few seconds later, a hesitant voice spoke up. "I'll go with you."

Quinn's face transformed into surprise the second she heard it. She put her hand on Rachel's calf to push her leg down (both of them had been flailing around as she'd read the forum on their website and hadn't stopped since), then, without anything obscuring her view, arched an eyebrow across the table at Finn. "You?" she asked suspiciously.

Finn's shoulders lifted up. This time when he spoke, he didn't sound so timid. "Why not? It's been a while since I was in touch with my feminine side."

"Since you wore a shower curtain to school?" Puck derived great pleasure of reminding his friend of such an event, but Finn didn't appear embarrassed.

"Sure."

Quinn chewed her lip in thought. If Rachel couldn't go, he was an acceptable second choice. "Can I choose your colour?"

"Yeah, but I really want my colours to match. Think you can handle that?"

It was the first time he'd really seen Quinn smile at him in years and he could do nothing to stop the way his face lit up at the sight of it.

X

Rachel didn't lie to people often.

When she did, it was always for a good reason.

She'd promised she would cook for Quinn the next time she was over, so that's what she was currently doing. They'd finished another number at the studio and instead of everyone parting ways, Rachel had managed to get Quinn to agree to come over for something to eat. Convincing her was easier than Rachel thought it would be. She was still concerned about Quinn but also had to admit that the easy-going, smiley version of her during the past few days had been appealing and very believable. It was so much easier to see Quinn happy, or at least happier.

Maybe Rachel's plan was working after all.

Rachel had given Quinn strict instructions to stay out of the kitchen while she cooked, so Quinn entertained herself on the balcony for a while, taking in the view at night and also without an antagonistic ex-friend giving her a free lecture. She could go up to her roof any time she liked at home but the view was decidedly different from this side of the city. It almost made her breath catch in her throat. The muted sounds against a pallete of flickering light and steady darkness had her awed long enough to be able to smell dinner cooking inside.

When Quinn did make her way back in the apartment, it was with a smirk at the untidiness of the kitchen.

"You okay over there?"

"Fine," Rachel replied hurriedly, squinting at the number of jars in the cupboard. "Fine. Um, Quinn, can you see the tahini paste? It's an essential ingredient and I'm really hoping I remembered to buy more."

Quinn came up behind her and looked up at the full cupboard. "What am I looking for?"

"Tahni paste."

She stared at the side of Rachel's face for a moment. "Yeah, what brand? What does the jar look like?"

"Oh, the lid is red," Rachel supplied. "I think," she added unsurely.

"So helpful." Quinn scanned the mass of jars and tins filling up the cupboard and eventually spotted a red jar hiding behind a box of crackers. She stood on her toes and reached up to get it when her wrist was seized.

"I'll get it," Rachel said. "I can see it now, thank you."

"But I'm right here."

"Yeah, but I'm cooking. When I cook, I do everything. That's the rule."

Quinn didn't remember such a rule when Rachel had stayed with her. "Since when?"

"Since I was forced to share a kitchen in college. When I cook in my own home, I have to control everything."

"Okay," Quinn said slowly. She lowered her hands and turned them over, interlocking her fingers. "D'you need a boost?"

Rachel nudged her on the way past to retrieve a steel two-step stepladder. She only needed the extra height of the first step. The cupboard was deep, so there wasn't too much resentment at her stature.

"What are you making, anyway?" Quinn asked, eyeing the pasta machine on the countertop. She turned the lever experimentally. "Are you using this?"

"Sesame noodles and broccoli, and no. Honestly, I've never used it."

"Why do you still have it?"

"So I can say I have a pasta machine," Rachel replied, prompting a smile out of Quinn.

"Makes sense."

"And because Daddy has one. He got into cooking just as I left for college. Typical, right? And he loves it, so I thought I'd get one. That way, when he visits and he feels like cooking his baby a home cooked pasta dish, he has something he can use right there."

Quinn's head bobbed at the explanation. That made more sense. "I have a bottle of brandy at home. I can't stand brandy. I like the smell but I can't drink it. My Dad loves it, drinks it every special occasion. Or, he did. I don't know if he drinks anymore. But I keep a bottle of it handy because...I don't know. Just in case, I guess. It's stupid."

Rachel's head shook. "Not at all."

Hearing that didn't make Quinn feel any less stupid. She hadn't wanted any kind of relationship with her father since even the birth of his granddaughter failed to move him enough for even one visit in Lima General, but there was a part of her that refused to let him go completely. It was a similar situation with her mother. They'd parted on bad terms years ago. Judy didn't feel comfortable with the way Quinn's life was headed and despised her appearance, so one day when Quinn had simply had enough she told her mother she was moving as far away from her as she could get. Judy took it as an idle threat and didn't think any more of it until six months later when she came home to find Quinn boxing things up.

Quinn didn't allow herself to think about the past much; it was too full of regret and resentment. But she never sought out the expression on her mother's face when she discovered her packing her possessions away and the fight that followed it. Sometimes, though, without her consent, images would assault her mind and she would be forced to remember, however momentarily. It was usually around Christmas when she was reading Little Women, her eyes dragging over each line carefully so as not to miss anything, reading the same lines her mother had read to her when she'd been Lucy.

As Lucy, she and her mother had almost nothing in common. Nothing except for their love of books. When she thought she was old enough to appreciate it, Judy read Little Women to her daughter every year. Starting December first, she'd read several chapters a night until it was finished. It was a tradition that lasted five years. Until Lucy was dead.

"I haven't spoken to my Mom since I moved to Illinois, but I read our favourite book every Christmas," Quinn said, turning her body to be able to follow Rachel with her eyes as she moved back over to the stove. "You can't tell me that's not stupid."

"It isn't stupid," Rachel said gently. "It's a way to be close to people who aren't there. I get that. When I had to come home after I found out about my Dad, all I did for two weeks was listen to his favourite albums and watch his favourite movies. It helped. It was comforting. It's a way to connect."

Quinn let that sink in for a moment and then decided she didn't really want to be thinking about that in the first place, and her demeanour showed it. "So," she opened with, moving closer to the stove. "Are you sure I can't help? Give me any job. One you hate, or something that's a little messy."

"Messy?"

"Yeah, I like to get my hands dirty every now and then."

For that particular recipe, there was no such job for Quinn to do but she was, after great reluctance, allowed to toast the sesame seeds later on.

As it was such a beautiful night, they decided to eat outside.

It was calm out there; if you didn't count how anxious Rachel got each time she asked Quinn if the food was okay. In all fairness, Quinn probably shouldn't have teased her with a dry, "Yeah, it's _okay_ ," the first time Rachel asked. She didn't know why the words came out of her mouth but she regretted them the moment she saw a glimmer of disappointment cross Rachel's face. The food was good, just as she'd assured the following three times the question had been directed at her, just like she was taking small sips of water like it would make room for more of the noodles.

Rachel had almost finished her dinner and was mid-chew when she nearly snapped her neck trying to see if something had flown into her apartment. She was certain she'd seen something, but she didn't know if her eyes were playing tricks on her. They narrowed during her scrutiny.

"Quinn, did you happen to see if a bat the size of an eagle just flew into my—" The rest of Rachel's sentence died off when she saw how nauseous Quinn looked but was still twirling them around her fork. "Are you okay?"

Quinn nodded, looking far from it. Her stomach was beginning to revolt but she managed a quick smile. "'S'not your cooking," she assured pre-emptively.

Rachel took in how much was left on the plate (less than half) and put her own fork down to cover Quinn's hand with her own. "Stop," she ordered gently.

"No, I want— I didn't mean to offend you earlier. I was joking. It's good, I just... need a breather."

"Please don't make yourself sick just to prove a point. I know you like it; that's more than enough for me, okay? It's just dinner."

"I want to finish it," Quinn said stubbornly.

"Take it home. Finish it tomorrow."

"You won't be disappointed?"

"The only way I'm going to be disappointed is if you don't stay and watch a movie with me," Rachel remarked, not wanting her time with Quinn to be cut short for anything.

Rachel's request was met with contradicting results. Initially, the first thing that ran through Quinn's mind was her wonderment of which movie Rachel wanted to watch and that, actually, it would be nice to sit and be close to her while they did something normal and fun. But a more pressing truth was that it had been hours since she'd taken anything. They'd been at the studio a good ten hours and she'd only left to use the restroom for a reason other than to pee once. She'd agreed to dinner before she knew what was happening but she calmed her internal panic by reasoning that it wasn't that big of a deal. It wouldn't take longer than a couple of hours. She could stretch it out until then.

Watching a movie would be playing with fire.

Rachel dipped her head, trying to catch uncertain hazel eyes. Her smile was hopeful and she prayed it was persuasive enough to work to her advantage. "Please?"

Quinn faltered. She really didn't want to be the reason for yet another time Rachel looked upset or disappointed but couldn't see a way around it. If she stayed any longer than another hour, she knew by experience that her condition would quickly deteriorate and somehow she didn't envision Rachel too thrilled to deal with her like that, to truly know what it was like to be in withdrawal. Rachel probably still had it in her head that it would be like a mild case of flu.

Having the flu instead of any other withdrawal symptoms would be like going to the zoo instead of a torture chamber. No contest. For Quinn, withdrawal was torture. It was being attacked by her demons while the worst conceivable pain ravaged her body. Quinn could remember being sick in the past, but it was always difficult to conjure up palpable memories of the pain. It was the opposite with withdrawal. She never forgot. It was impossible.

The silence suggested to Rachel that she was about to lose, so she broke out the heavy artillery. "Don't make me spend the night alone."

That was it.

Quinn's brows knitted closer together. She thought of Rachel sitting alone watching TV and she sighed some of the tension out of her stomach. She couldn't just leave her there. Well, actually, she could, but she didn't want to.

"Okay," Quinn agreed, watching a smile spread over Rachel's face. "But when I can move again, I have to go out. I won't be long."

"Why?"

"Do you eat popcorn when you watch a movie?"

"Who doesn't?"

Quinn was relieved at the answer. "Seeing as this is the first time we've watched a movie in years, we should do it right. I'll do a popcorn run and you can pick whatever you want to watch."

Rachel didn't remember feeling so content in a long time. Things weren't perfect with Quinn —far from it, but they didn't feel anywhere close to as terrible as they once had.

X

It took a little while for them to clean up and for Quinn to not look like she was going to empty the contents of her stomach all over the table, but the popcorn run still took a little longer than Rachel expected.

But everything was all right once she did eventually return with three bags of popcorn (because she wasn't sure which kind Rachel liked) and two coffees, stating that walking off the food had made her feel a lot better. Rachel could see that the fresh air had made Quinn look marginally better; she looked more alert.

Quinn chastised her lightly on loading the dishwasher while she was out. She'd wanted to do that, to contribute to the night in some way. Instead, she settled on emptying Rachel's choice of popcorn into a bowl for her and joining her on the couch. Rachel must have been surprised at Quinn's closeness because of the way she turned to her with a fleeting questioning glance.

"What?" Quinn asked as she got comfortable.

Rachel turned back to the screen and shook her head. "Nothing," she hastened to say.

It wasn't convincing, but Quinn smirked nonetheless. "D'you want me to move?"

"No," Rachel dismissed at once. "No, not at all. I was just... you don't normally— there's usually a seat between us, that's all. I didn't know if you knew what you were doing."

"I probably don't." Quinn took the remote out of Rachel's hands to adjust the screen size. The opening scene was paused and she could already tell that the ratio was way off. Luckily she was there to fix it. Who knows what sort of awful movie experience Rachel would have had with everyone short and fat the entire time.

"I, um, I talk a lot during."

"During what?"

"A movie, obviously."

Quinn laughed softly. "Okay, Rachel."

"I like to make small observations, and also to know I'm on the same page as whoever's next to me," Rachel explained. "I don't really have much control over it, but if I'm annoying, it's okay, you can be brutally honest with me."

"Okay."

"But it's also deep-rooted. I process things best orally. I can't be held accountable for a somewhat irritating—"

"Are you going to be like this during the movie too?" Quinn cut in, and she could see every shade of brown in Rachel's eyes when she faced her. "I just want to know if I should press play."

"No, but I want you to be prepared in case you forgot those summer nights when I would annoy you by talking through whatever we watched. And I've got myself into a pickle on more than one occasion at the movie theatre when the person next to me has gotten tired of my, frankly, downright insightful commentary. I discovered the conclusions to the pivotal scenes before anyone else. There was outrage."

"No-one's pickling anyone tonight, so you can relax. Get comfortable, I'm not going to bite you." Rachel smiled and shifted a little, leaning further against her, and Quinn rethought her statement. "Unless you tell me the ending, then I might."

"I bite back, just so you know."

"I've had my shots," Quinn returned flippantly.

It didn't click right away, but when it did Rachel gave a hard nudge and a frown. "That's not funny."

X

Rachel was at a bar with Kurt and Tony. They'd spent the majority of the past hour talking excitedly about the work developments, including the upcoming video that they'd all had to be measured for yesterday for costume purposes. Tony might have felt somewhat envious over his friend's success if he hadn't have had three callbacks in one week. Things were looking up for everybody.

"Besides seeing how devastating things still are in Ft. Lauderdale with my own eyes, the thing I'm dreading most is the flight," Rachel complained. "I don't understand why we can't drive down. We'd save money."

"How many times have you had to fly across the country, or out of it?" Kurt said. "And how many times has the plane crashed and burned?"

"I can't help it if I get nervous. And I never mean to _weep_ , it's just— my tear ducts have a mind of their own, as you know from my solos. All I can do is surrender."

"Don't worry, Rach, we plan on getting you so drunk that you won't even realise where you are."

"How comforting," she deadpanned.

Antonio couldn't believe he was hearing this. "Am I hearing this right? You're complaining about a free flight and accommodation?"

Rachel began to smile. "Okay, when you put it like _that_ , I sound like—"

"A freak," Tony supplied. "Some of us would jump at the chance to have our asses kissed that way. When do you guys leave?"

Kurt swallowed some water and swung his leg out lightly. "Next week," he said excitedly. "We're there for three days. We're doing the video and then volunteering for a day."

Antonio nodded. "Just don't come back with a complex, either of you, okay?" Rachel rolled her eyes but smiled at him anyway. The humour was replaced with a more serious tone when he said, "So, uh, what's happening with Quinn?"

"What about her?" Rachel asked.

"Well, I don't mean to be an ass, but how do you think she's going to fair for three days without..." he let the rest of his sentence die off as they were in public.

"She'll have her friends."

Tony couldn't help but lift his brows. "Okay, and in the real world, how do you think she's going to cope? Is she off it and you just forgot to tell me?"

Rachel's face hardened. "No. But she'll manage, we'll—"

"She won't get near a plane if she's carrying anything, Rachel. They're not stupid. Make sure she knows that, for all your sakes."

"I know," Rachel replied defensively.

"Have you talked about what she'll do?"

No, they hadn't discussed that yet. They hadn't even discussed Quinn's feelings on the video yet. She wanted Quinn to process it in her own time but she'd already planned to bring it up later today when they hung out. Right now, the urge was stronger than ever.

"We will."

"I'm sure Quinn is aware of what this video shoot means," Kurt added. "She's doing the stupidest things imaginable, but she's not an idiot."

"Okay," Antonio relented, "but don't bury your heads in the sand because it's the easier option, trust me. Been there, done that, made that mistake. You need a realistic plan or shit's gonna go flying."

"Quinn's..." Rachel looked to Kurt for support. "She's been in a better place the past few days, right? I mean, I think that if there was ever a time she was open to quitting, it would be now. We're close. She trusts me now."

Kurt nodded. "She has flashed a smile or two," he said objectively.

"And this stays between us, but I feel like maybe this is the start of Quinn's breakthrough. Following a recent breakdown, which was awful and uncharacteristic, she's seemed lighter, like maybe she's learning how to let some of her demons go."

"Breakdown?" Kurt asked, unaware.

Rachel nodded, unwillingly recalling how utterly powerless she'd felt as Quinn fell apart in front of her. "She just...cried. She clung to me and cried, and I didn't think she was going to stop but then you came back from getting dinner and suddenly she wasn't crying anymore. I think she would have been embarrassed if you saw her," she explained. "And ever since then, she's been different."

"Don't hate me for saying this," Antonio started, keeping his voice quiet, "but she's using, Rachel."

"I'm not blind to that."

"She's using more," he clarified. "Way more than before."

Rachel shook her head. "No, she's not."

Antonio felt a weight in his stomach at being the one to break this news to her. "Look, you know how I feel about people like her. I haven't exactly made it a secret. But I'm saying this to help you, okay? Both of you. Quinn's using, and I guarantee it's a lot more than she has been. There were a hundred times my brother would break down like that. He'd be depressed and scream and cry and then act like it never happened. And each time I'd either find him in his house, wrecked, or his friends would call me and let me know."

"I've been around Quinn when she's been like that," Rachel came back with, a little heatedly. "Trust me, we'd all know if she was doing anything worse than usual."

"And trust _me_ , your friend's not in a better place. She's off her fucking face."

X

Rachel heard the music before she'd opened the door to Quinn's floor.

She walked with purpose and would have bulldozed past anyone, even perpetually moody neighbour Baloo should he have stepped in her path. An angry frown hadn't left her head in an hour.

There was no way she would allow herself to be so stupid again. She _wouldn't_ overlook any signs that Quinn had gone off the deep end. She'd made the mistake of looking the other way before. Never again. Tony was bitter over his brother. He had been ever since he died and probably would be for years to come, but Rachel still resented him for the accusation. She resented him for the voice at the back of her head that refused to be silenced until she saw Quinn with her own eyes and cleared the air.

Quinn didn't lie to her, that much was true. If she was being technical about it, Quinn was always honest with her. So Rachel was going to ask her straight.

The side of her fist thumped noisily against the door.

She thought about last night when they'd spent the night hanging out, just the two of them. Quinn was different. She was open and honest and she wasn't afraid to be close to Rachel physically. Rachel had looked her in the eye plenty of times. She would have _seen_ it. It wasn't like Quinn was unable to function around her, do something as simple as hold her head up and complete a coherent sentence. Given the circumstances, everything was as normal as it could currently be.

She pounded on the door again after it wasn't answered.

Sure, Quinn left for a while but she explained why. She came back with popcorn and coffee, not a bag of heroin for them to share. Tony was being a dick. He was working her up for an unacceptable reason.

Rachel didn't bother knocking a third time. She pulled her keys out of her purse and was all too happy to kick her way inside the apartment.

The volume of the music was enough to make her wince.

If the cops came to that neighbourhood for something as trivial as a noise complaint, they'd no doubt be there now. Or hours ago, depending on how long Quinn had been trying to rupture her eardrums.

The apartment was usually tidy, so it came as a surprise to look around and see the place in disarray. Rachel was already on edge and being there was adding to the tension she could feel rising inside of her. It was killing any chance of optimism. The bass of the music under her feet propelled each marched step towards the wall where she ripped the cord from the socket. The instant silence was welcomed.

She blew out a breath to calm the nerves raging throughout her body, but the moment her eyes landed on Quinn's bedroom door Rachel was reminded of all those weeks ago and she felt her eyes burn. Her steps forward were hesitant at first, and then rushed as she burst into the bedroom.

"Quinn?"

Rachel's eyes darted everywhere but the room was empty. She didn't understand, and part of her didn't believe it. She was so sure of what she'd find in there that she could almost feel the fingers on the back of her neck again. It was still a recurring nightmare; one she woke up from without crying anymore, but still distressed. At least she knew how that would end. At least she'd wake up.

She stepped backwards and spun around, intent on checking the bathroom, when her eyes landed on Quinn lying on the floor behind the couch, completely still.

It was like a train slamming into Rachel, wrecking her body beyond repair. Any strength in her limbs was all at once replaced with coldness. A horrified sob climbed from her throat and she raced forward, falling to her knees.

Her hands framed Quinn's face. "Quinn! Oh, God, you idiot, what have you done? What have you done?"

Rachel tipped Quinn's head back and pressed two fingers to her neck, feeling a powerful, rapid pulse jumping underneath, and with a tidal wave of relief came the tears. She shook Quinn's shoulder and held her face again, lifting her head off the floor in an attempt to rouse her. Quinn's skin was hot to the touch so Rachel hurried to the windows and pushed them up as far as they could go.

"Quinn?" she called thickly when she was kneeled beside her once more, frightened by the darkness to her eyes. "It's me. You're okay. You're okay —you're _fine_. It's okay to wake up now. I'm not going to be mad. I won't be, I promise." She lifted Quinn's head higher and twisted her own legs so that she could sit behind her. From brushing the hair off Quinn's forehead, she could feel how hot she still was. Rachel held her hand underneath Quinn's elbow and pulled on the sleeve of her jacket, trying to pull her arm free. The angle made it an uneasy task but she managed, and then moved on to the top Quinn was wearing; not giving a second thought to stripping it off. It was frightening how easily manipulative her body was, but each steady exhalation was just enough to stop Rachel from calling for help.

Rachel got as close to Quinn as she could without wrapping her arms around her. She stroked her hair and rested her cheek on her head. "You're okay," she repeated to herself, and then turned her head, first kissing the top of Quinn's head and then face, leaving her mouth pressed against it for a moment before doing it again. "You're okay."


	12. Echo

She didn't know how long she sat there for, but it was long enough for her foot to fall asleep and to be certain that Quinn's skin was cooling to normal.

She'd been paying close attention to the sound of each breath, so she easily picked up a hitch in the pattern just before Quinn sucked in a breath deeper than the others and pushed her head back against Rachel's shoulder.

"Quinn?"

Quinn made a quiet sound of acknowledgement and Rachel moved away experimentally but Quinn's body followed her. She held her hand next, raising it slightly before letting go. It flopped back down to carpet, upturned and motionless. Rachel frowned and covered it with her own, bringing it back to her lap.

It wouldn't be long and Quinn would be back to normal, whatever that was.

Except it turned out to be almost two hours.

In that time, Rachel had moved only once, to put Quinn's top back on when she felt cool enough.

She couldn't feel her right leg anymore, so she began to distract herself from around Quinn, holding one hand against her back to support her while she twisted around to lean against the back of the couch instead. Rachel put her hand on Quinn's thigh and slid the other down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She was in the middle of stretching her leg out and feeling a rush of heat in her calf when Quinn's hand fell on top of hers. She expected it to be nothing but when she turned to look, Quinn's eyes were open; glazed and unfocused, looking like she hadn't slept in a month.

"Hey," Rachel said, her voice nervous and soft. "Are you with me?" Quinn nodded weakly, but other than that, was quiet. Rachel wasn't sure what to say. She was too preoccupied with the stark difference to Quinn's face since only yesterday. It was scaring her. She thought it might be slightly less terrifying if she stared at it, but it wasn't. She studied her long enough for Quinn to be able to speak.

"Why're you here? Didn't have plans with you."

There had been little strength in her voice, so Rachel ignored her pointless curiosity. "How do you feel?" Quinn's eyes were drooping and a second later they slid shut.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Awesome."

Rachel looked to Quinn's mouth. Her lips were dry and chapping. "You need some water."

"No. 'm good."

"You're not good. You're getting water." Quinn's fingers tightened slightly around hers when she made a move to leave.

"Stay." Though her mouth was mostly dry, it took her a few attempts to swallow. "Y'know when you were a kid... the coldest days of winter your Mom —Dads— would put your clothes on the heater so they'd be warm when you woke up. 'S'what I feel like, but better."

The transformation on Rachel's face was clear to see. She was no longer primarily concerned.

She was about to break a promise.

"Would you like to know how I feel right now?"

Quinn wasn't in any state to follow what was going on, not really, but a small part of her knew this shouldn't be happening. The rest of her didn't care. She was so tired and her body felt like dead weight. All she wanted to do was keep her eyes closed and cling to the kind of peace she only felt during moments like these.

Rachel understood that, and she would wait because there was no way she would be able to keep quiet over something she needed to scream about.

Quinn just lay there against Rachel, unable to make herself move for the next thirty odd minutes and then stayed there for a little while longer through embarrassment as the haze cleared. If she didn't move, if she kept her head on Rachel's shoulder, she wouldn't have to look her in the eyes. When she had built up the courage to do both, the first thing she said was, "I didn't want you to see that."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"Nothing. That's the point. Before you start, it wasn't as bad as it looked. I know my limits."

That was about as reassuring as it sounded. Rachel wasn't amused. "I don't appreciate being treated like a moron. I saw you, I found you. I've been sitting with you for hours."

"I know. I wasn't— I didn't OD. I couldn't really move or open my eyes for a while, but I was in there somewhere. It's just the way I get when I'm like that."

"I'm not an idiot. Don't play this down."

"I didn't say you were," Quinn replied evenly. "Thank you for staying with me, and for... cooling me down."

"Why did you do it?"

"The reason never changes."

"I don't believe that. I haven't seen you this way in a long time, then you fall apart in front of me and I find you off your head a few days later?" Quinn is quiet and Rachel has time to remember the terror she'd felt seeing her lying there, still. She was crying as she moved away from her and got to her feet. "I thought you were dead. So, when I ask you again, I want you to be honest with me. I've earned it. Why did you do it?"

Quinn knew Rachel deserved an explanation but it was going to open a whole new can of worms. They'd be getting into it for a while. "You shouldn't be here, Rachel. Francis might—"

"Shut up. I don't care. Talk about why you did it."

"I needed to," Quinn said, sort of irritably because that should have been obvious by now.

"Why did you need to do this? I don't understand. You're not usually so high that you can't function. Is it about the other day, the reason you got so upset?" The lack of response didn't deter Rachel. "I'm not leaving unless I get some answers, so you might as well start talking."

"Because nothing matters but me when I'm like that. I don't have to think or feel anything but amazing. Like you don't have vices."

"Show tunes can't kill people."

"Debatable." Quinn averted her eyes from the glare she was given and stood up so she wasn't as small as she felt. The ground seemed to fall under her feet when she did, sending her staggering. The couch was there to catch her but she still saw Rachel step forward and reach out at the same time. "Why are we even talking about this? I told you not to care. I told you how this would end up and you still can't accept it. I shouldn't—I shouldn't have to feel like I owe you an apology because you don't know how to listen to me time and time again."

"Because I refuse to accept it! You're in the middle of a golden opportunity; this is the time for change," Rachel said. "It's not an apology I need or want, although it wouldn't hurt. Show me you're trying to change. Show me that all of the effort and faith isn't a waste of time and that—that this means something to you; that _I_ mean something to you. Seeing you like this kills me. I have nightmares about it."

"Rachel, what you want from me, I can never give you. On some level you have to know that."

"Yes, you can."

"You want too much." Her remark was true, but the way Rachel was looking at her made Quinn nervous. She knew Rachel still read her like a book.

"I'm supposed to take your word on that? You can't even stand up straight." As furious as Rachel was, she still went to the fridge for a bottle of water and thrust it out towards her when she was close enough. "Drink it."

Any protest Quinn might have had died before it reached her tongue. Her mouth was dry and she drank from the bottle gratefully. She would have done it anyway. It was probably the only thing she could do for Rachel and not manage to screw it up.

"I want you to talk to someone," Rachel said.

"I'm not having this conversation with myself."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't need to talk about anything to anyone."

"I think you do," Rachel returned. "And I think it needs to happen soon. I'd be happy to pay for a professional. Or if you'd rather talk to me, that's okay, too. You can talk to me, Quinn. About anything." She shrugged. "I thought I'd made that clear."

"You have," Quinn assured.

"So, please, talk to me," Rachel begged. "Why were you crying?"

Quinn sighed heavily and reluctantly admitted, "Bad day."

"At work?"

"No, it was... stuff built up, that's all. Sometimes you need to let it all out and you're fine."

Rachel understood about those times but she wasn't sure she'd ever cried like that because of a bad day. "Do you mean a bad day in general, or a bad day like you were talking about last week?" There was no immediate response, so she said, "Whichever it is, I hope you can talk to me about it. It scares me so much to think that you won't. All of the things you keep inside, Quinn, they scare me. I don't want you to think you're drowning when I'm right here."

"You shouldn't have to deal with it," Quinn said.

"Why not? We're...friends. A-and friends talk to each other. The amount of crap I unload on my friends? It's what they're there for. They support you and love you, no matter what." Quinn looked unconvinced, so Rachel lifted expectant brows. "Are you still going to deny that we're friends?"

For the first time in Rachel couldn't remember how long, there was a splash of colour to Quinn's cheeks.

"No. I've just never been a very good one, and you're..."

"The best, I know. So please let me be that for you."

Quinn put the bottle down because her arms still felt dead like she'd been asleep on them for hours. "I can't talk about it. I don't want to or need to, and even if I did, it wouldn't solve anything." In this case, the truth would only saddle Rachel with guilt and she didn't want to put that on her shoulders. She didn't blame Rachel at all, but she knew how she'd take it and decided to keep that one harsh reality away from her.

She knew she was hurting Rachel by keeping things from her, but Quinn's way of taking care of Rachel in this instance was to protect her from that one truth. It was the right thing to do.

"God, you're so stubborn!" Rachel exploded, her fists clenching. "I could wring your neck for it. Do you not understand what's happening right now? We're about to shoot a video and be very public for the next couple of months once it's hit the charts. I mean, don't you care to be healthy for that? Have you even thought about it? I won't even mention wanting to do it for yourself because you know that's the main— that's the most important thing above anything and everything."

"Yes. I gave it a lot of thought last night, and right now."

"Why don't you share some of those thoughts, Quinn? I'm sure they're very insightful following your recent binge."

Quinn smiled darkly at that. "Don't. You don't know what I've been thinking."

"No, because you won't tell me! All people do is try to protect me from things that I don't need to be protected from."

The drowsiness had tapered off. Quinn realised, suddenly, that she no longer felt safe and warm the way she did after using. She was feeling increasingly irritable and needed some space. She closed her eyes briefly, trying not to give her temper a chance to grip hold. "Rachel... I'll text you."

Not unsurprisingly, it set Rachel off like a flare.

"Oh, my God! Are you still high?" she screamed. Her heart beat stronger with each second her eyes were joined with Quinn's. She was glad their resentment was shared. It meant that Quinn was actually feeling something. "Why do you make everything so difficult?"

"Fine. I'm thinking when Florida's done, when the album is done, we're done. Not forever, but for a while. That's what I've been thinking."

"Oh, that's fantastic," Rachel sneered. "Such regard for your friends —for _me_. I was worried the next few months were going to be hard. Oh, but don't worry everyone, martyr Quinn is here to save the day! Get a grip," she ordered, her tone hostile.

"I need to get a grip? Rachel, your head has been in the clouds ever since I can remember. Not everything has to be a big production. All these ideas and dreams you have—"

"Let me tell you something about those," Rachel cut in. "They might not be for everyone but I can promise you, they were never stupid. Look at where I am. Almost every one of my dreams has become a reality. And I'm not saying that everything I have was handed to me on a plate the second I got here. It wasn't. For almost three years, I was broke. College wasn't like high school where I'd get slushied, but I wasn't exactly Miss Popular, either. I didn't stand out. Nobody thought I was special enough or pretty enough to take a chance on, but eventually someone did notice me and then _everyone_ did. And I'm in a really good place. I can tell you right now that having hopes and dreams, actually expecting something from your life, is not something to be ridiculed for."

"I wasn't talking about that."

"But it all ties in. You think my dreams for you are outlandish, but they're not. I'm living proof that the impossible can happen."

Quinn scoffed mockingly. "The impossible? With that body and voice?" She looked around and even lifted a cushion off the couch. "Where did I put that violin?"

"Why, are you going to hand it over? It's what you want, right? Everyone to feel sorry for you instead? Well, you know what? I don't anymore. If you want to feel sorry for yourself, that's your business, but I won't be a part of it. If an average small town girl can make it this far, then you should have no problem if you truly put your mind to it. I know I've said some mean things about you in the past but you were the prettiest girl I'd ever met, and now you're the prettiest woman. There are a lot of gorgeous people in New York, Quinn. But I've found there's gorgeous, and there's you. So if you want to go and measure my success to what's on the surface, fine, but you should know that I can turn it back around to you."

"Because I can still turn heads even when I'm skinny to the point that it's unhealthy?" Quinn held people's attention for almost as long as she could remember. As Lucy, people stared at her and lashed her with slurs and mean names that she couldn't help but hear at night when she was trying to sleep. As Quinn, people stared at her because they craved her time and attention. They couldn't compliment her body enough. Now she figured people stared because they were wary of her.

"No, because you're so much more than that," Rachel insisted. "That's what makes you so... that's why people crave you. There's always more but you're so protective over what you give away that people hang off your every move, your every word. You have such a commanding presence when you want to. Adding that onto your natural talent? People will be crazy about you.

"I mean, you could have the country in the palm of your hand and you can't see that." There was so much potential there that Rachel wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she came to her senses. "I know how happy you are when you sing but even if you decide this isn't something you want to do again, it's still so important. You can make some powerful connections. All you need to do is get out there and meet people, not hide yourself away in here. In this industry, it's all about who you know. So let's go. Make these next few weeks count. Make Florida count."

Quinn didn't know what she wanted, but she did know that she wouldn't figure it out in the next couple of weeks. Things weren't that simple.

"I don't know what I want, but I still mean what I said. When the album and everything that comes with it is over, we should all have some space."

Rachel shook her head and ran a tired hand through her hair, beginning to look haggard. "Yeah, that's not happening." She wouldn't be agreeable to a separation unless it was to put Quinn in the hands of capable doctors in a clinic.

Quinn's mouth tightened and she lifted her chin defiantly. If Rachel was going to be like this without even considering how a break would benefit everybody, she wasn't about to spare her feelings. "It's too bad I haven't pulled a disappearing act before. Gosh, I wouldn't know where to start." Even though she didn't mean it, it was still frustrating how Rachel only looked stunned for a moment.

"And it's too bad my manager doesn't have a cop for a sister, who can find pretty much anyone."

Quinn arched a brow. "You broke the law?"

Oppositely, the permanent hard line Rachel had frowned her eyebrows into began to soften. "Not personally, no."

Quinn sighed. She didn't want to snap at Rachel. "I didn't say the break had to be forever," she said quietly. "Take a month or two, catch up with your friends and take a vacation. Have a break and have _fun_. What's so terrible about that?"

The thing Rachel found so terrible was the fact that after everything they'd been through, Quinn was still trying to get rid of her. She couldn't help but take it personally. She couldn't help but think of what would happen to Quinn if she wasn't there.

"You think I can't have fun in New York? Are you kidding?"

"I mean away from the stress. I think it would be good for you if you took some time to recharge."

"And it has nothing to do with you being able to do whatever you want while I'm gone?"

"I can do whatever I want when you're here, Rachel. But if you want to turn me into the villain, go ahead."

"There you go again..."

Quinn wanted space from Rachel and her friends because then there would be nobody to constantly watch if she was going off the deep end. She didn't mind failing as long as nobody saw her do it, and if she was alone she wouldn't have so much weight pressing down on her shoulders. If she had a few weeks where she wouldn't be disappointing anyone, she thought she might actually have a shot at getting clean.

She came to that startling revelation sometime around midnight last night when she'd got home from Rachel's. It hadn't left her head all day, even during her time with Finn at their appointment where she'd actually enjoyed her time with him.

If nobody _knew_ she was going cold turkey, nobody would get hurt if she couldn't do it.

Quinn could try again and wouldn't have to feel like a colossal waste of space. The important thing is that she would know how much effort she put into getting clean.

She didn't think it was a cop-out.

She was wrong.

"There I go again, what?" Quinn demanded to know.

"You're not doing this for me; you're doing it for yourself. You just want me gone."

"If you were really in my head, you'd know that I actually have good intentions." She wondered how her trying to get clean and failing versus never trying would affect Rachel, and if it was possible that one would hurt less than the other. She thought about this at great length over the past weeks and still couldn't come to a conclusion. Maybe there was no right answer. Maybe the inevitable heartbreak hurtling towards them looked too bleak.

"I don't believe you," Rachel accused, and it was enough for Quinn to snap again.

"Grow up."

"Grow up?" Rachel smiled rancorously. "Coming from you, the drug user who was so out of it just a couple of hours ago that I thought you were dead? That's funny, Quinn."

"Isn't it? But it's true."

"Don't tell me what I have to do. I am a grown woman; I don't need you or anyone else to make decisions for me. If I want to take a vacation, I will take one."

"Yeah, neither do I. That doesn't seem to stop you and everyone else from trying. It's annoying, isn't it? But again, this isn't even a taste of what I have to put up with and you're acting like a child. One little thing that deters from your plan and you're up in arms. Try dealing with it for months on end. Try having every aspect of your life controlled by other people or substances and then you can cry to me about your autonomy."

"Yeah, because my plan is to keep you breathing! And, wow." Rachel was glaring. "You're blaming other people for where you are right now? I thought it was all you, Quinn? I thought you were the only person to blame for getting yourself into this mess."

"I'm not about to get into the cause and effect of my situation. It isn't my fault you can't tell which is which."

"You brought it up!"

"Lower your voice," Quinn sneered. "I'm not fighting with you."

"Yes, you are!"

" _No_ , I'm not."

"This is a fight," Rachel declared heatedly. "You're pissing me off, and judging by the look on your face, I'm doing a fantastic job of pissing you off."

"I won't deny that you have an A-plus from me, but that doesn't mean we're fighting."

"Sure it does. We're fighting because you're the stupidest idiot I know right now and I'm so mad at you. We're fighting because you still refuse to try, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of watching you kill yourself!"

"I have tried! I'm trying now!"

Rachel shook her head fervently. "Not hard enough."

"I put myself through hell for you, so you know that big mouth of yours? You want to keep it shut. Not that it's an easy task for you; I remember how you never closed it when you pretty much squatted here."

"Well, thank you for that noble sacrifice, Quinn. I can see that purgatory did you a lot of good." Rachel didn't stop when she saw Quinn getting increasingly more irate. "And you know what? I wasn't perfect —I'm _not_ perfect, but I was a good person to have here. I was a good friend! You should be thankful that I'm still here and that I care so much, not gripe about how tough you had it because you had an unwanted guest in your home. You just sound stupid and ungrateful, and _selfish_ — and, God, Quinn! You make it so hard sometimes."

"Then go," Quinn yelled, flailing an arm behind her to where she guessed the door to be. "There's the door!" She didn't mean it.

Rachel struggled for an appropriate response. She decided not to think too much about it. "Oh, kiss my _ass_ , Quinn."

"Don't tease me. If you leave, I'll kiss you wherever you want for however long you want."

It had been a long time since Rachel felt anger like this coursing through her veins. She wasn't entirely sure she'd ever felt it this powerfully before. "We're not done talking," she all but spat out. "I will tell you when we're done, but here's a hint: sometime after you start acting like an adult and leave this _child_ in the past where she belongs! Because that's how you're acting! You're being stupid and weak! Weaker than you've ever been. Help is all around you and you're not taking it. That's not strength, it's stupidity," she accused, only half meaning it when she didn't allow fury to darken her thoughts. She knew how strong of a grip addiction had and she just wanted to slash through it with words, wanted it to be that simple.

But Quinn had told her once that if it was just a matter of will, there wouldn't be half as many addicts out there. She was right.

And that fact was killing Rachel the way that Quinn's relationship with drugs was killing her.

Quinn felt her hands begin to shake and she clenched her fists tightly. They were done now. "Get out."

Rachel noticed the movement. "That's right, I forgot, you're pissed," she intoned. "And I suppose all I'm doing by standing here not letting you crap all over both of us is baiting you. Let's not forget, I'm also doing something you don't like. Uh-oh, I guess that means I should steer clear of any walls or glass bottles!"

Quinn breathed heavier, feeling her pulse quicken. "Get out."

"No, I won't. You can deal with this right now. Why are you so intent on getting rid of me just when we make progress?" Rachel asked, lowering her voice so she didn't sound so aggressive. She felt some of the tension sigh out of her. "You always do this. You destroy your relationship with me when, what, I get too close to you? Are you so insecure that you think I'm going to run in the opposite direction when I see you for exactly who you are?"

"Get. Out."

"No."

"I mean it!" Quinn shouted, stepping towards her.

"No!" Rachel reared up. She could feel her heart pounding but she wasn't backing down. "Get a hold of it. Trust me; I'm just as angry and desperate as you are but I'm not going to tread on eggshells around you just so that you don't fly off the handle," she said. "You don't have enough faith in yourself. I know I can bait you and you won't touch me. I'm certain of that; I'm witnessing it right now. You have all the control there."

Quinn was still shaking, and the moisture beginning to gather in her eyes was panic. "I have no control over that, of anything." Her temper was something else to add to the long list of things she felt she had little or no control over.

It was Rachel's turn to tense her hands. "I'm so sick of hearing that! Yes, you do!" Quinn had closed her eyes and Rachel was so riled up that she couldn't give her much time. "What the hell do you think these past couple of months have been? Do you think I don't know you? Do you think I haven't seen exactly who you are? I know who you are. I know you. I've seen the worst version of you and I'm still here. You do disgusting things, you have a disgusting habit, and sometimes that turns you into a reckless idiot. I hate it and I can't stand to see you when you're like that, but, thankfully, it doesn't happen often."

"But it's happened enough," Quinn gritted out, opening her eyes to glare. "You're the idiot who doesn't know when to walk away. The articles that could come out when the video goes live? People are probably going to find out about me, and do you think they're going to write nice things when they find out? Do you think I'm going to be some sort of inspiration to anyone? They'll tear into me. I knew they would when I signed that contract, but I signed it because I thought it would work better in the long run and because I didn't think there'd be…all of this. Half of the group are nobodies in the industry, but being as the execs are either brilliant or dimwits, there's some stupid video being made. On location, no less. So, whatever. I'll do the record and anything else they want, and then we can be done long enough for people to forget you were all friends with me. You won't have to be linked with me outside of work ever again."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to abandon you because of that. I might have done some selfish things in the past, but I'd never do that. I'm not you."

"I made a bad decision at a bad time, but college changed everything long before then and you know it. I told you during senior year that it would end up like that. We scattered around the country. It was never going to be the same and if you still think it could have been then you're more naive than I thought."

It hadn't been the same since their sophomore year. Most of Quinn's memories from the last year of high school were intimidating people in ways she'd never done before, including her friends. She remembered them begging her several times to revert back to the old Quinn. As she couldn't (and didn't want to), she successfully alienated herself from the group. Not enough that she wasn't in Glee, but enough that the invitations to hang out outside of school were significantly less. They didn't disperse altogether, but it was nowhere close to every weekend. She figured it was enough for them to spend time with her in their classes and during practice, and honestly, it was enough for her too. Most of the time.

"I'm not talking about you cutting us out. That's in the past. I'm talking about how selfish you are now. Every single day, Quinn. Right now, this second."

"How?" Quinn yelled, surrendering once more to the urge. "You started screaming when I told you the truth: that space is the mature option, and it is. Do you think I'm doing all of this for those people in Florida? Do you think I suddenly care about them now? I don't know them, Rachel, so no, I don't."

"You agreed to the album to get me gone, remember?"

"I'm doing this for you! I'm _trying_ for you!"

"So you could keep me away! But I always knew it would come down to that. The only way you'd ever agree to doing something I want you to do is when it benefits you, too. Whenever I think we've taken a step forward, I find out that it's three back. Do you know how much that hurts?"

"You're so stupid," Quinn fumed.

"And I was talking about your repulsive habit," Rachel clarified. "The one you partake in every single day, even knowing how much it hurts me and everyone else who cares about you."

"There it is again."

"What?"

"That word. You keep making the same mistake. It isn't a habit I have, Rachel, it's an addiction. I can't just stop it with a click of your fingers and your sad eyes."

Rachel resented that. "What I know is that you haven't tried hard enough and I'm done making excuses for you."

Quinn stared at her. "Is that supposed to be an ultimatum? How many times have I told you to stop making excuses? I don't need to ask how many times you've listened to me."

"It's not an ultimatum, it's a reality. You have to stop now. No more excuses."

"I didn't ask you to make excuses for me."

Rachel took some time to collect herself. "I don't care if I'm seen with you. None of your friends do. And the amount of make-up or Photoshop that goes into appearances and photoshoots, you don't have to worry about how you'll look. Nobody will be able to tell you're sick, at least not physically. The rest depends entirely on you. And the group knows what's at stake but we're your friends first. You have to be willing to be that selfless for us. I know you can be. You have been. You just taint it by shooting up or taking pills, and that has to stop because if—" Rachel felt an unwanted yet familiar sensation grip and constrict her chest. "If anything worse than today ever happened, all we would ever see is how we did nothing. That's why we're hard on you. It's why we're soft on you, too. Puck and Santana, I know they've been harsh, I know they've hurt you and that it may not be the best method, but it's their way of caring.

"I want you to quit. I want you to want that too, and I want you to be honest and tell me if help is something you even want at this point."

Quinn ran a hand through her hair at that loaded question. "You think it's that simple?" she asked, with less of an attitude than she'd had because Rachel looked at her with such concern and worry that it sliced through her.

"Getting there, no. Not anymore. But the answer itself, yes, I do think it's that simple. You have to have had one of two answers spring to mind as soon as I asked, which was it?" There was stubbornness to Quinn's body language and Rachel softened. "Quinn, please just tell me."

"I've tried quitting before, it didn't work."

"Do you want to get clean now?" Quinn's eyes held hers long enough to know that an answer, at least verbally, would not be present any time soon. It was fortunate that Rachel could read the look that had flashed over Quinn's face. "We can _work_ with you wanting to get better. We can work with you being strong enough to accept the help and give it all up and be clean. I would do anything for you, Quinn, but I won't stand around and watch this for a second longer."

Quinn's expression softened and then pinched, her lips parting as she let that sink in. She struggled, however briefly, for a response. "Quit using for you?"

"No, for you. Face your demons and forgive yourself for whatever it is you're punishing yourself for. Be kind to your body and be kind to yourself."

"Like I said, I can't just quit with a click of someone's fingers," Quinn said.

"Then cut down in preparation for it. Whatever you're doing right now, half it. By the time we leave for Florida, you should at least be a little prepared for three days without it. When we get back, we can talk clinic options, if you want. Or if—if you want to stay with me and get clean, that's fine. I would be happy to be there for you." Quinn looked at her uncertainly at first, but must have found what she was looking for because she exhaled softly, dejected.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but even half, it's—"

"Try."

"What if I do try and I still can't do it?"

"I think... I think you need to not have an excuse to fail, Quinn. So I'm not going to stand here and tell you everything will be fine if you don't stop, because it won't be. You know what will happen if you keep using like this."

Quinn took that onboard and tried to consider it seriously.

She knew she couldn't use in Florida. Something would have to give, at least for a few days.

Quitting altogether wasn't something she could agree to on the spot. It couldn't be a whim. But there was nowhere else to go anymore and maybe halving her dose and then waiting just until the Florida trip was out of the way to use again wouldn't quite be hell. She'd teetered on the beginning effects more times than she could count; where she'd taken just a little bit too long in taking her next hit. It sucked, and it made her feel worse than shit, but maybe it would be okay if she knew she still going to use.

Or maybe she was kidding herself.

Quinn's brows pinched together and she closed her eyes, pushing the pads of her fingers against her forehead and rubbing against the pain.

It had been hours since her last hit, and after fighting with Rachel she was on a serious downer.

"What do you think?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know."

"You need to know. You need to make a decision and prepare your body for it."

"Yeah—give me a minute."

"We don't have another minute for you to waste," Rachel said. "Florida's happening next week, you have to get your body ready for it."

In the midst of that, Quinn also felt the coldness begin to set in. It started in her back, like someone was pouring a jug of ice water down her spine. Her symptoms usually came on suddenly, all at once. "I said give me a minute." Sooner than Rachel could offer a retort, Quinn felt her eyes begin to fill. She tried to blink them away.

"I've given you plenty of minutes. I've given you days; weeks." Rachel was insulted to see Quinn stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

Quinn's finger swiped underneath her eye. "No. I'll be back in a minute."

"Don't walk away from me. You don't get a pee break with this. This is serious; we need a plan."

"I can't think," Quinn said shortly. "Just wait a minute, God."

Rachel saw her eyes. "Are you crying?"

"No."

"Please don't cry, Quinn. I'm just trying to help." Quinn didn't bother rolling her eyes, just started to make her way to the bathroom and Rachel followed. "I'm coming with you."

"No, thanks."

"What else would I let you do?"

"Have the minimum amount of privacy?"

"Privacy is a luxury, Quinn. I hardly think you've earned it today." Leaving Quinn alone in an enclosed space terrified her. "And to be perfectly honest, thinking of you being alone anywhere right now makes me want to throw up."

Quinn turned around and Rachel had to stop quickly. "I'm not your puppet," she said. "I'm not your pet; I'm not a project you can be graded on. You don't have to try to control every single—"

"At least a puppy would sit down when I asked it to."

"And unless you back off for two — _two—_ damn minutes, I might piss all over the floor."

Rachel glared as Quinn stalked away from her into the bathroom. "Fine! But I'm timing you. And don't you dare think this conversation is over because it is _far_ from over."

"Why don't you put your ear to the door?" Quinn retorted sarcastically. The anger slipped from her face when there was no response and she put the toilet lid down, sitting down heavily. Her hands covered her ears and she dug the pads of her fingers into her hair.

She didn't know if her comment had been taken seriously so she stood abruptly and turned the water on full power, gripping the sink hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She hung her head, internally screaming the same curse over and over.

How was she supposed to make a decision that huge when she was on a fucking downer? She'd make Rachel a promise and then hurt her when she couldn't control her dose. Rachel would hate her.

But Quinn also had a sneaking suspicion that Rachel would end up hating her either way.

She held her breath when she felt a twinge in her back, and within a couple of minutes it felt like she'd been kicked for an hour. She put a hand to the small of her back and covered the centre of pain with her hand, like she could hold it in her palm and take it all away.

Quinn was fairly certain that her stash was in the bedroom (because she'd stopped keeping any spare pills in the bathroom cabinet ever since Rachel threw everything out the first time; partly so that didn't happen again and partly because she'd had an awful hallucination several days after that, in which Rachel had taken a pill but it hadn't been aspirin at all), but that didn't stop her from opening the cabinet to check.

She moved things around and opened lids to make sure nothing was hiding. It wasn't like she hadn't hidden pills with real medicine before.

She'd stooped to most lows.

Quinn hadn't been crying when Rachel asked before, but she was beginning to.

She didn't know what to do.

Rachel was going to despise her at the end of it all, no matter what she did.

For right now, Rachel's hand covered hers and pulled it away from the cabinet after waking in undetected.

Of course Rachel had had her ear against the door. After a minute, she didn't care how she looked and pressed an ear up against the bathroom door. When Rachel didn't hear anything, everything came back to her at once. The way Quinn had winced and rubbed her head, her irritability and watery eyes, even the yawn. She felt so stupid for not connecting the dots before now.

Rachel looked at her, softer when she saw the obvious discomfort as Quinn faced her properly. "Don't," she said gently. "This is— you're coming down, right? This is you in withdrawal?" Her heart beat so fast with those words.

Quinn would have loved withdrawal to be so tame for her. "Not exactly," she said, and added, "This is just the beginning, tip of the iceberg. Whatever you want to call it."

"You get really sick?"

Quinn groaned, in pain but also disgusted at the thought of it. She lowered her arm but Rachel didn't let go, so she ended up holding her hand. "So sick. God, you don't… you don't want to know." Her face twisted with her next thought. "Rach, I can't do Florida. I'm not going to be able to. Even half… I'll be nervous and stressed and trapped and I won't want to feel those things."

"What are you nervous about?"

"Everything. I didn't think there'd end up being a video. There are so many of us who haven't been out in the media before now. I didn't think the label would take a gamble like that. There are going to be so many people _judging_. God, if I was worried about our friends, how am I going to deal with the whole country?"

"The same way I do," Rachel said. "The same way anybody deals with being judged. Other than my website, which is admittedly very well moderated to spare my feelings from the depraved trolls who like to be mean, do you think I regularly search the internet for reviews? I love feedback, but only if it comes from a trusted source. Even then, a lot of it you have to take with a pinch of salt. But you just put yourself and your art out there and hope someone connects with it the same way you did. Be yourself and ignore the idiots who tell you you're not worth it, because they're wrong. You're always going to have people thinking they have the right to say those things to you, and that doesn't just happen when you happen to be in the media. Everyone has an opinion, Quinn."

Quinn was still terrified.

"But how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Be…you, and a public figure. How do you live up to it? The expectations, knowing all of the ways you can screw up to those people?"

"I try not to think about them. I've always been true to myself. That hasn't changed. It's not like I lose sleep if people don't like me. But I'm a good person and I love myself as much as ever, and now I try to make all the other Rachel Berry's see that they're more than whatever flaws they think they have. I do it because I can't _not_. I sing and dance and act because it's who I am, and the only way that comes close to allowing me to express myself. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm human, Quinn. Part of being human and growing up is making mistakes. Lots of them. So I try my best to be a positive, loving person but also to not sweat the little things too much. Trust me; it's a waste of time."

Quinn was letting that sink in. She was trying to process it and apply it to a situation quickly concocted in her mind, but it was easier said than done to see herself acting the way Rachel does.

"Quinn, please don't use anything again today. Please. It's the only way we can get through this."

"I know, but—"

"You can do it. It's just half."

Even if it _was_ halved, she'd have to use again or she would never be able to fall asleep later. She didn't know if it was wise to tell Rachel that. Her body shifted with hesitation but the way Rachel was looking at her, pleading for her to believe in what she was saying to her, Quinn ended up saying it.

"It's not a morning and evening kind of deal, it's more of an every few hours, any chance I get kind of deal. I'm going to have to go the bedroom soon, and you can't be mad at me for that. I mean, if I—if I try, if I make it those few days being clean then you can't go back on your word and tell me that I have to keep clean after Florida or you're gone."

"I won't," Rachel promised, a heavy, sinking sensation in her stomach at Quinn's needs. She wanted Quinn to get clean and she was going to succeed in making that happen, but for right now she would settle for her cutting back and making the effort for the trip. Only for now. She didn't have any other option. Quinn wouldn't listen to her any other way. She looked up at her curiously. "We can talk about what happens after Florida when we get back," she said. "So you…do it anywhere? You take it out of the apartment with you?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, a flicker of pain passing over her face as her mouth widened just barely, enough for Rachel to get that sympathetic look on her face again. "Anywhere. At work; on the bus; at parties; in alleys; at the studio. Anywhere I need to."

"What if people see you?"

"I don't really put much thought into it."

The level of Quinn's addiction never ceased to surprise Rachel, even when she thought she was used to it. As the wheels turned in her head, so did her eyes widen. "At the studio? Quinn!"

"I was never looking to get caught, I was desperate. I know how to be careful."

"That's not okay. You can't use there, period. As of now, it's out of bounds," she said. "The same goes for public transport. What if a little kid—"

"I don't leave my needles around." Quinn failed to sound as stern as she wanted. Everything was already coming through a little too loud, even without Rachel raising her voice. "Ever. I would never do that."

"And if you made a mistake or forgot because you were under the influence, everything would be okay?" Quinn didn't have anything to say to that, so Rachel squeezed her hand. It was now or never. "So are you going to do it? Are you going to promise yourself to cut down to half and be clean in Florida and mean it?"

Quinn somewhat reluctantly supposed she had no choice. She'd been backing herself into a corner for a long time and now there really was nowhere left to run. Thinking of how far she'd fallen lately, the thought of staying there or, God forbid, falling further, made her stomach churn. Even worse than the thought of withdrawal.

The words didn't come out of her mouth readily, but they made their way out eventually.

"Yes," she exhaled, looking genuinely terrified now that it was out there. She kept her eyes on Rachel, because maybe the abrupt and unadulterated relief she could see on her face could be contagious if she wanted it to be badly enough. "I promise."

If there was no comfort to be taken from Rachel's expression, perhaps she would have more luck as Rachel all but threw her arms around Quinn's neck, holding on tightly. It didn't help the pain starting to latch on to her various other parts of her body but how silly of her. Quinn hadn't put her arms around Rachel in return.

It was still something she was unfamiliar with; hugging someone smaller than her. Physical contact like this at all happened so rarely. However, the longer she held her like that, the worse the twisting to her stomach got. When Rachel adjusted her head, practically resting it on her shoulder, the more wretched Quinn felt. She didn't deserve her and knew it.

And she knew Rachel had done nothing in her life to deserve _her_ as a friend.

Few people deserved that.

"Rachel, I'm…"

Rachel could hear the shame but she didn't need an apology. All she needed was the promise Quinn had just made. "I know," she assured softly.


	13. The Comfort of You

 

 

It turned out to be vastly different than 'okay' when Quinn stopped using so much.

Sympathies and praise didn't touch her the way they should have when she was so uncomfortable and irritable or, oppositely, anxious and jittery, jumpy. Rachel's sincere words of praise didn't get under her skin they usually would have, but instead barely scratched the surface. They didn't make Quinn think she was strong enough to do this for longer than a few days.

A dark cloud settled over Quinn whenever she started to think that maybe she could do this for longer than Florida. A nagging voice at the back of her head told her that she was sorely mistaken about that. She could hear it over her own voice, over Rachel's. Quinn could hear it even when the voice had long gone and the words were just a memory; a notion that had crept under her skin the way she wanted Rachel's beliefs to, like an antidote to the poison coursing through her.

The times when Rachel would notice Quinn was discomforted and tell her it was okay, sometimes with a touch to her hand or a run of her fingers through soft hair, Quinn wanted to believe in it. It had been a long time since she believed in anything, since she submitted herself in such a wholly way. It wasn't that she didn't want to surrender, it was that she couldn't. She didn't remember how.

She wanted to be sure of something. Anything. Right now, all Quinn was _almost_ sure of was a dark fear that she understood to be a painful reality; that the next week was going to be preparing for an Oscar winning role. Once that was out of the way, she was going to fall right back down again.

When a frown or a sigh was the only way to challenge that, Rachel took Quinn's expressiveness and vocality for pain every time and reiterated her support. All it did was press play on that voice again, drowning out any placations Rachel, or even herself, may have had.

But it was okay.

Rachel was there with no decent pain medication —it was the soft stuff, not the good kind that would really take more than an edge off— and no way to call for help from someone who would know where to go for it, assuring her that the pain would go away eventually.

There. That made it all better. Whew, what a relief. Eventually she'd be okay.

Eventually she would stop looking and feeling like a walking corpse.

Quinn didn't express any of that snark but she felt validated enough to think it bitterly as each hit barely took the edge off long enough to concentrate on everyday life and, well, recording an album. The justification disappeared each time she thought about how the current reality was that she _was_ using less. She was really doing it. It disappeared each time she saw Rachel doing little things to help her, and then Quinn felt like a bitch.

Rachel had talked to her a lot about how to start acting the way she wanted to be perceived by people. Even if she was having an awful day, let it be a last resort that she let the press know about it. Quinn had already gathered such information for herself but it didn't hurt to be reiterated being as she'd been praying for someone to even look at her the wrong way this morning.

It didn't help that Rachel refused to take the bus and arranged for a car to pick them up and take them to her place so she could freshen up. There was nobody to catch in the act. It wasn't as if Rachel's driver —some middle-aged man named Andrew— was giving her the evils through the back view mirror. He didn't look at her at all, except for those two times when he asked if she was all right and to tell her that there was water and aspirin in the front that would get rid of that hangover for her. If she wanted it, of course.

He was being nice, she was sure of it. But it was still easier for Quinn to be annoyed by it and will Rachel to hurry the hell up before she blew chunks in the back.

It didn't take Rachel long to shower and change but it did take a few extra minutes to decide that her hair wasn't going to co-operate and was therefore hidden away underneath a beanie.

By nothing short of a miracle, Quinn managed to keep the measly contents to her stomach down. Every time she thought that was it, Rachel was touching her arm or her hand in reassurance and Quinn was distracted by the touch long enough for the nausea to slip to the background of her mind. Rachel's hand always retreated though, and Quinn was again reminded of how she was willingly putting herself through this and wondered when exactly it was that she lost her mind. But of course she'd done no such thing. It was quite the opposite.

"What is that?" she asked in displeasure, unable to stand it any longer. "That smell."

Rachel didn't have to look far in such a confined space; she found the source of the problem quickly and unbuckled her seatbelt as the car was stationary in traffic, unhooking the air-freshener from the rear-view mirror. She felt a little guilty for dropping it out of the window once the traffic broke, an emotion smothered when she heard Quinn's grateful response.

Quinn felt better when she wasn't trapped inside a moving vehicle.

When they arrived at the studio, she took a few minutes outside to get a grip on it. She leaned back against the doors and closed her eyes, breathing carefully. The coldness to her face was a reminder to wipe her eyes and she sniffed, thankful that Rachel had enough sense not to ask how she was every five minutes.

"Ready?"

Quinn nodded, moving after a second as she followed Rachel inside.

"Good morning, Miss Berry!" Melissa called out cheerfully, an ever-present fixture behind the desk. "It's good to see you."

Rachel smiled politely when signing her name. "Good morning. It's nice to see you, as well."

Melissa's smile tapered off when she spotted who Rachel had turned to give the pen to. She swallowed tightly but straightened her back and lifted her shoulders as high as they could go without looking like a human hotdog. "Morning," she offered the other blonde. Melissa tried to put a stop to the way her face contorted when Quinn looked at her. Tried and failed. Jeez. Did the woman need a bucket, or what? "Do you need a bucket?"

Quinn glanced at Rachel to thank her for this experience and received an apologetic smile in return. She told herself that if she barfed all over the desk, it wouldn't be her fault. "Hey," she replied stiffly, not trusting herself to say anything more than that.

It was all very civil for them but Melissa didn't dare to turn her back until both women were safely locked away in one of the studios.

Finn was the first one to spot Quinn.

He smiled with his teeth at having successfully hit both Rachel and Quinn on the head with balled up pieces of paper. Rachel's light chastising made his smile widen further, but then he saw the glare and the pale clamminess to Quinn's face and how her eyes seemed darker and heavier than he'd ever seen them.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "Um, are you okay? I wouldn't have done that if I knew you were sick."

"I'm fine."

Finn didn't appear comforted by her response but after a quick glance at Rachel, he dropped it.

Blaine and Sam were in the recording booth and from what Rachel could tell by the way Puck took a dramatic step forward and growled fiercely, making Tina who was standing directly opposite him laugh hysterically, he'd had a little too much sugar in his morning coffee. Puck was actually trying to teach Tina to overcome her nerves on stage. The way he saw it, if she was scared, make the audience just as intimidated.

Mercedes was wedged between Brittany and Santana talking animatedly about her favourite cities from her solo tour last year but trailed off when she saw who had entered the room. By association, Brittany and Santana's focus also strayed.

"Hey, Quinn," Mercedes began hesitantly, wondering if it was best to voice her concern out loud or save it for a more private moment "Hey, Rach."

Brittany's face scrunched up at the sight of Quinn. She hated getting a cold, and by the looks of it Quinn had one. "Oh, no, do you have a cold? Do you want some water?"

Quinn didn't tell her that it wasn't a cold but she did accept the water because, thanks to Rachel, she learned that her friends liked to do little things like this for her. It made them feel useful.

From the way everyone stopped silent and took on mirroring expressions of horror almost as soon as the word was out, Brittany might as well have diagnosed Quinn with the plague.

Mercedes whipped a packet of tissues out of her purse and slid them down the table, Kurt sent a travel-sized bottle of scented hand sanitizer the same way, and Tina rummaged through her bag until she'd found a zip lock bag that honestly looked interesting to Quinn, but was really full of all types of allergy medication, vitamins, painkillers, anti-inflammatories, and indigestion pills. She promptly offered everybody a vitamin.

"Thanks, Grandma," Santana smiled. "Jesus."

Quinn took the tissues because her eyes were beginning to run again and she didn't want to rub at them. When she was letting Tina put a small white pill in the palm of her hand, she imagined, just for a moment, that it was something a little harder than a vitamin. She found Tina's bag of remedies amusing and looked to the mass of blister packs in there. "I don't suppose you have anything for allergies in there, do you?"

Tina's hand stuffed down to the bottom of the bag. "Please. I sneeze if the wind blows the wrong way. Hang on." Within a couple of seconds, she'd located the medication and thrust an entire blister pack out to her. "You can have them."

Quinn wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with an entire pack but thanked her nonetheless before she swallowed the two legal pills with several gulps of water to appease Brittany.

"Tea run," Kurt declared, abruptly getting up from his seat. "Who's coming with?" As much as (almost) everybody wanted to help, none of them were particularly thrilled at the prospect of stepping foot inside yet another overcrowded Starbucks. He exhaled heavily, smiling as he considered his victim. He spotted him on the couch, biting at some hard skin on the side of his thumb and readily avoiding eye-contact. "Finn, thank you so much for offering."

Finn sighed and dropped his hand. "Dude, come on, I just got here ten minutes ago."

"Cry me a river. Come on, brother, let's go. Up and at 'em."

Finn got to his feet begrudgingly, and then his friends were no longer mute.

"I want tea," Brittany remarked.

Mercedes nodded, fishing through her purse for some money. "Me too. I've got this, guys. Who else wants?"

It seemed nobody was going to pass up a free drink.

It was far too late to inform them that she didn't actually have a cold and therefore hot tea wouldn't be as beneficial as they thought, but she didn't think it was right to let Mercedes pay for her drink. She pulled five bucks from her pocket and walked forward to awkwardly hold it out to Kurt. "Here. I don't want to take your money."

Mercedes made a sound of disgust and held a silencing hand up. "Girl, tea is not going to break the bank. Kurt, you accept that, you're dead."

Kurt backed away with his hands raised. He was a smart guy.

Quinn frowned lightly, "Yeah, but—"

"But nothing," Mercedes shrugged, giving Finn some cash. "Buy me a cold one in Florida."

Puck smirked at the reluctance on his friend's face. "I could use a tea, too," he said, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Finny boy, want to write these orders down in case you forget?" Finn flipped him the finger and Puck sniggered.

An hour later, after Finn and Kurt had since returned with trays of tea (and a cookie for Finn —who received a sharp slap to the back of his head from Puck when he refused to share), everybody was crowded on or around the table discussing what they were going to get done before the day's end. Quinn voice sounded better after taking the medication and assured everyone that as long as Carter didn't disagree, she could get her parts done today and so they could start agreeing to the arrangement for the next and final number on the album, which happened to be a group one.

She said it because she needed to get home as fast as possible.

Before they left the apartment, Rachel had apologised but asked to check Quinn's purse. It was the best thing for both of them. Quinn didn't have a needle in there but there was a capped syringe in her bra. Rachel wasn't the only person to resort to that method of keeping something hidden. When Rachel asked her to be honest and tell her if she had anything on her, Quinn's silence spoke volumes. She ended up leaving it in the bedroom drawer and having to be pulled out of the room to be able to walk away from it.

Quinn hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before, but she used within five minutes of waking up. The problem was she'd been so restless during the night that she'd woken up incredibly early —earlier than Rachel. Now more than ever she was itching to get home or top up, or do anything to stop the cramping nausea to her stomach.

She was regretting the tea.

As her friends chatted amongst themselves, Quinn felt increasingly ill. It didn't help matters that everyone had moved on to discussing ordering in lunch.

The edges of her vision darkened, slowly spotting with bursts of colour. She breathed carefully but the discomfort to her stomach persisted vengefully. Quinn could feel the beginning of a familiar sensation climbing up from her stomach and into her throat.

Santana was the first to notice, her concern hidden from her tone but not her face. "Didn't think it was possible, but you look worse than earlier. Don't tell me you're sitting here infecting us all with the flu."

Quinn felt too anxious and too much like shit to bother with a response. She touched Rachel's arm beside her and leaned in to her ear, but Rachel turned to face her at the same time. Quinn stopped abruptly when she saw how close Rachel's mouth was, and how Rachel's eyes dropped to hers for a split second, too. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Do you want me to—"

"No, it's okay."

Rachel watched Quinn leave the room and resisted the urge to follow her. She fixed her eyes on Santana instead. "Santana, guys, there's something you should know…"

Quinn rushed through the lobby and past an oblivious Melissa who was redirecting calls at the front desk. She was relieved when she reached the privacy of the bathroom but it was short-lived because there was _fire_ inside of her and within seconds she was kneeling down to retch into the toilet, her body stiffening as what felt like pure acid slowly worked its way up and out of her body. She coughed and gagged on it, swearing silently.

She put a hand to her throat as if she would be able to feel the hole burning through her oesophagus. The burning wasn't soothed with saliva and she wished terribly that none of this was happening and so much that had happened was simple enough to be swept under the rug and forgotten about.

She couldn't return promptly without it being obvious by her face that she'd been sick, so Quinn took her time to be certain that she didn't need to lean over a toilet again anytime soon and flushed, leaving the stall to rinse her mouth and splash some water on her face. She rinsed first and leaned down to spit it out. Upon straightening up, a violent spinning of her head sent her staggering to the side where she tripped over her feet and fell to the floor.

It felt worse down there, and she lay down to combat it and wait for it to pass.

Quinn was unable to move right away and of all people to need to use the restroom, Melissa danced her way inside using a hard shove of her butt. Quinn wasn't sure who it was until she heard a high, nasally voice and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, my gosh. Can you hear me?"

Quinn groaned almost inaudibly at the volume. "God," she muttered.

"No, sweetie, it's Melissa."

Sweetie? Quinn figured she must have looked _awful_.

"What happened? Should I call for help?" By the grace of God, Melissa turned away to screech, "BAROLD!"

The door opened again a moment later and Quinn's perception of balance had at last returned. Over her dead body would she be letting Melissa and Barold call for help on her behalf. Her heart was still hammering away inside her chest but that didn't mean she couldn't string together a sentence long enough to refuse treatment. It didn't have to be coherent. A few choice phrases always got the message across.

It was unclear whether or not she was relieved or even more disappointed when Santana walked in. Probably a little of both.

"It's cool, Melissa, I got her. Just some bad sushi."

Quinn started to pull herself to a sitting position until she was slumped against the counter, closing her eyes against the relentless pounding of her head. It wasn't the worst headache she'd ever had but it was no walk in the park, either.

When she looked up, watching Melissa leave at Santana's request to give them a few minutes, Quinn knew instantly that Rachel had told their friends about what she'd promised. She hoped Santana wasn't there to provoke her. She didn't have the energy for it.

She could see emotions on Santana's face that she hadn't seen in years as she approached, crouching down beside her. Quinn could hardly believe the concern and hesitance etched into Santana's face that was aimed solely at her. Then Santana was brushing some of Quinn's blonde hair back behind her ear, taking a good look at the fragile state she was in.

"Does it hurt?" Santana asked fearfully, only believing Rachel once she'd seen it with her own eyes.

"No." Quinn frowned, and her voice came out rough. "I mean, yeah, it sucks, but it's good compared to the real deal."

"Do you want me to grab you some water?"

"Water's not exactly what I want."

Santana pressed her lips together in a display of sympathy but didn't offer anything more than that right away. She wasn't sure how to deal with Quinn like this, but she knew who would know better than anyone. "Should I get Berry? I can have her here in two seconds; maybe less if I tell her you're sick."

Quinn considered it but she didn't want to disrupt and worry her. She could tell how little sleep Rachel had got on her couch last night because Rachel's eyes were puffy and tired when she went to wake her, finding her already awake staring at the living room ceiling.

"No," she said quietly. "She'll be worried, and when she's worried she gives me this look that… kills me."

Santana looked at her intently, as if realising something, and sat down heavily. She sidled up against Quinn, looping their arms together. "Well, we can't have Berry killing you."

"What are you doing?"

"Chilling in a fancy bathroom with my friend. What are you doing?"

Quinn smiled and her eyes drifted shut again, stinging. Santana may have the power to reduce her to a tremulous rage when she wanted to but there was no denying how much calmer Quinn felt when they weren't constantly at each other's throats. She'd missed being around her this way.

"Same."

X

Quinn was with Jackson.

She'd lost some of her desperation since she'd stopped back home for a few minutes.

Rachel wasn't happy she was going to spend time with him but there wasn't much she could do without resorting to handcuffing Quinn to a radiator, or something equally as dramatic. The main thing for her at the moment was that Quinn was honest with her, even if it was something she didn't want to hear.

So Quinn told her she was going to see Jackson and that she wouldn't be longer than a couple of hours.

Jackson was leaning against the counter as he lit up a cigarette, looking across his tiny excuse for a kitchen as Quinn sat on the opposite one, eyeing his strange collection of tacky fridge magnets. Her focus was pulled back to him when he held the pack out to her. She declined and his eyebrows quirked.

"Cuttin' back?"

Except in this instance, Quinn only smoked when she was bored or if she was offered one. "Not really, I'm just not in the mood. Plus, I don't think Rachel likes the smell." She also didn't have any gum to combat the aftertaste.

"She sure has a lot to say, doesn't she?"

Quinn laughed. "She means well."

"You ladies always mean well," he teased, opening the window to let some of the smoke out. "So, what brings you by, baby?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Quinn furrowed an eyebrow and glanced down to the linoleum. "Rachel, actually. She, um, she drives me crazy." Jackson laughed at that, and Quinn persisted, "No, I'm serious. Actually dizzy crazy, rage crazy, crazy crazy."

"I knew a woman like that once."

"You kill her?"

"Married her." Jackson's smile turned soft, like he was remembering. It faded steadily. "But no… I wanted to sometimes. Oh man, the times we'd fight and she'd bait me like a fish. She knew my buttons and wasn't afraid to push every single one of them as many times as she could."

"How did you not react?"

"I didn't," he said. "There was no ignoring my Sharlene. If she wanted to talk, we talked. Always had to be the way. There were times we'd be fighting and I'd think I wanted to kill her, like, put my hands around her throat, you know? But I'd see this stubborn, fierce look in her eyes and I knew that as much as she pissed me off, I'd kill myself before hurting her." He could tell Quinn still didn't understand. "We'd fight, Quinn, and hands down they would be some of the most heated arguments of my life. But I learned that you don't walk away because someone's telling you somethin' you don't want to hear. We'd scream at each other, use awful words we absolutely meant at the time but regretted once we cooled off. There's no shame in fighting with the people you love, not if you learn from it."

Quinn's eyebrows were furrowed again. "But what about after she passed? You told me that you were perpetually angry. You got into bar fights… fights with family and friends."

"I was, and I did."

"So impulse control wasn't your thing for a while. How did you stop yourself from getting to that point? The things you've told me you've done aren't the Jackson I know. It's like you're talking about a different person."

"It sure wasn't stopping myself from getting angry, Quinn. You can never have full control over an emotion like that," Jackson said. "It's healthy to experience anger, as long as you express it in the right way. It took a long time to discipline myself. It didn't happen overnight."

"How did you do it?"

"Some people need professional help, but for those of us who don't have that luxury, some of it comes from people around you and some of it comes from you. I can give you advice but it's not going to be a magic cure. You need to take it on and see if you can make use of it first. What works for some don't always work for others. But the main thing you've got to tell yourself is that it isn't an option. When you're mad as hell, when all your buttons are being pushed and all your triggers are going off left, right, and centre, it's the easiest option to lash out physically. At least when you've already sunk to that level in the past. You've got to be brutal to yourself. When everything inside is screaming at you to hit out, tell yourself you can't do it. Your head always talks the loudest, right? Make it scream things at you, too. But violence in whatever form, baby, is not an option. All it's going to do is make you feel worse, anyhow. And that's not an option either."

Quinn faltered for a moment. "What if it's not someone I care about? What if it's a stranger? How do I deal with it then?"

"The same way," Jackson said. "It doesn't make a difference if the people we're lashing out at are our loved ones or our worst enemies, even the people who you believe to be unworthy of a moment's grace. Violence is never okay. Everyone is loved by somebody, and a lot of the time that drunken ass shooting his mouth off at a nameless bar has a real nice wife and sweet kids who would hurt the most from whatever punishment you dish out in a blind fit of rage. Or maybe it's not a guy, maybe it's a girl. A woman.

"She doesn't have to be outwardly redeemable right away; maybe she does need to sit down and shut up, but the fact is you won't ever know somebody in the time it takes to down a drink at a bar. You don't know what she's been through, or who she has in her life. That's why the best form of revenge is never to hurt you, it's to hurt the ones you love."

Quinn nodded mutely, appeased for the moment.

It wasn't that she lashed out as often these days. She didn't. However, there had been a couple of occasions lately that worried her.

It began, as most things did with a spiraling Quinn Fabray, during a quest for control. A lightning fast reflex delivered without regard for consequence.

In her life, Quinn had experienced more than her fair share of lows, but the moment her hand connected with Rachel's face in that bathroom all those years ago was, at the time, her lowest low. She'd hated herself and apologised sincerely as soon as it registered what she'd done, vowing to herself to never do it again.

Of course, having good intentions doesn't always mean your actions will turn out that way.

Years later, a different city, different girl, and a lot of alcohol mixed with misery and regret for so many things, Quinn lashed out again. The results were the same in the sense that the girl instantly quieted and stopped shoving and harassing Quinn about hitting on her boyfriend —who she'd looked at maybe twice in two and half hours, which was only natural as the woman's head had been slammed off the bar.

It was a new low, yet instead of being filled with regret, Quinn found herself feeling oddly in control again. Believing that only made her fall further.

With the goddamn press around soon, she hoped she would be able to remember Jackson's advice.

As she was jetting off to Florida soon, she knew time was running out to be with him and ask for his guidance. He knew about the record but he didn't know about the latest development. She wished she could take him with her. Other than how much fun he was to be around, even at almost sixty (Quinn didn't care), his compassion and amount of experience and knowledge about anything under the sun made him invaluable.

"They want a music video," she blurted out, watching him smile and blow a line of smoke towards the window and crush the rest of the cigarette into an ashtray.

"Am I hallucinating?"

"Thought I was when Rachel told me."

"My baby girl's gonna be on TV?" he asked, loud and joyous. "Oh, my Lord! The whole world is going to see you?"

"I don't know about that, but the country…" Quinn trailed off, putting her hands together and glancing away during a rare attack of bashfulness. Her friends were a big deal. "We're shooting it in Florida, not too far away from where it hit. I leave in a couple of days but I have a lot to do and I didn't want you to worry if you didn't hear from me."

Jackson's fingers splayed over his mouth as he stared at her, failing to blink away his pride. He paced forward and lifted his hand from his lips. "Come here. I want a hug."

Quinn laughed softly and slid down off the counter, meeting him for an always comfortable embrace.

"I'm so proud of you," Jackson said. "You know, I really believe everything's going to be okay for you in the end, Quinn. I can't wait to say I told you so."

"Maybe," she said into his shoulder, contemplating on telling him that cigarettes weren't the only thing she'd cut back on dramatically lately. While she was considering that, she considered how maybe he was right but she wouldn't believe it fully. She could only commit to maybe.

Maybe she would be strong enough to keep up this half-a-dose thing outside of a trip to Florida. It would be immeasurably difficult to limit herself after not using for three days, but if she could just get through them, it could be a very real possibility. Maybe her life didn't have to stay this way and it was okay to have dreams and expect them to come true once she put in the work.

Maybe she was going to end up okay.

Maybe that would turn out to be the funniest joke she'd ever heard in her life.

Quinn felt safe in Jackson's arms. They felt like her father's during their happiest times, back when he wasn't sickened to touch her.

"What are you going to do for stuff when you're over there?" Jackson asked.

"I don't know," Quinn dodged, wanting to save her news until it was certain. She didn't want to disappoint him.

"You quittin'?"

She wanted to say yes, at least for a few days until it was safe again, but what came out was the opposite as she eventually withdrew from his arms.

"I have a friend who moved down there a few years back. He's a good guy, discreet and reliable… You want his number?"

It was a dangerous temptation to have but Rachel had forewarned her of how little downtime they would get over the course of their trip. Somehow she didn't envision having an afternoon off to cruise around for drug dealers. And besides, she had made a promise and intended to keep it, so she wasn't awfully concerned when she passed over her phone and let him put the contact details into it.

When he was finished, she said, "I have something I need to tell you."

"There's more?" He sounded so excited. She wanted nothing more than to see the expression on his face once she told him that she'd cut back and was even going to _quit_ for three days.

"Yeah," she smiled, momentarily infected with his enthusiasm. "But I'm not going to tell you yet. I want to… I want to make sure it's the right time."

"It's never a wrong time to tell me anything, you know that."

"I know, but— a week. And maybe when I get back, you can meet Rachel." Quinn looked hopeful. "Properly, I mean. You'd really like her. I know the first time she came off a little abrasive, and no doubt she can be as blunt as a hammer when she wants to be, but she's…Rachel. She has a habit of growing on you, so if you spent some more time with her you'd see that she's really great and that I really—"

"I like her just fine," Jackson cut in supportively. "And I can't wait for next week."

Neither could Quinn. Not only because the Florida debacle would be out of the way, but because she would hopefully have news to share with him which would make him proud of her again. Prouder than he was now. If she did this for Rachel (and okay, herself), it wasn't out of the question to assume that Rachel would do one thing for her in return. Meeting and putting in genuine effort with Jackson. She wanted Rachel to see why she loved and valued him so much.

A week and counting.

X

There was an unspoken agreement between them that they were staying with each other again. Not permanently, but certainly for the next couple of days until they were on their way to Florida. As Quinn had given in the past two nights and allowed Rachel to sleep on her couch despite Francis knowing where she lived (but only because Rachel swore on every star in the sky that she wouldn't answer the door if anyone happened to knock on it), Rachel was subsequently offering up her home for Quinn.

It was like an out of body experience to have the tables turned and be the one to walk inside Rachel Berry's apartment with an overnight bag clutched tightly in her hand.

Quinn had been there before, of course, however it bared no resemblance to any previous time. Tonight she wouldn't be leaving. She was still so used to taking the stairs in buildings that Rachel had to seize her hand and tug her towards the elevator each time they were in Rachel's building.

Upon walking inside, Quinn's first pit stop was the couch. She set her bag down on it.

"You can put that in the bedroom," Rachel said, not specifying which.

"That's all right. I'll stay out here, if that's okay."

"I have two bedrooms, Quinn. I mean, sleep wherever you want, whatever makes you comfortable, but there are two beds," she shrugged. "I'm just not sure you should be alone again."

"I'll be all right. It seems only fair that I'm relegated to the couch," Quinn said, with a small smile that Rachel hadn't seen all day. It had been another bad one for cravings and her body was not adapting to the change of dose. She was still uncomfortable and irritable and toying with the edges of withdrawal so much that there were times she was certain she'd slip and fall into it. Florida was fast-approaching and her concerns were still eating away at her.

"You won't be saying that when you experience everything my guest bedroom has to offer. It's—"

"Spectacular, I know. I remember," Quinn said, and then Rachel was looking at her with one of those smiles.

"It's nice to know you were listening to me."

For Quinn, spoken softly or callously, Rachel's words were always sticky, rolling around in the forefront of her mind no matter how much she wished she could forget them or the way that Rachel looked at her sometimes, especially lately. She was caught between wishing it never happened and for her to never stop.

"Every now and then." She was filled with anxiety but pushed through it. "Will you do something for me?" Rachel pressed her lips together and nodded softly, looking so open and endlessly kind that Quinn could feel a flaring ache below her ribs. "When we get back, will you spend some time with Jackson?" The brightness to Rachel's eyes dimmed noticeably. "Please."

"I don't know, Quinn."

"He's not dangerous. I wouldn't be asking you if he was. But he's so important to me, and when he finds out that you're responsible for the changes lately he's going to want to kiss the ground you walk on. You should meet him properly." She saw Rachel's mouth open, presumably to decline, and said, "You should get to know him."

Rachel appeared to have taken note of something and her words stuttered to a stop inside her throat. She'd given in already but the several seconds following that were spent on her trying to seem like she was weighing up her options.

It worked when Quinn's fingers brushed against hers.

"Please."

"I'm not promising I'll like him," Rachel blurted, and the tension to Quinn's face lessened drastically. "But okay."

She liked this; compromising with Quinn. The rush she got each time she saw Quinn trying to distract herself from wanting to use again rivaled any she'd ever felt off-stage or off-screen, where she was free to be Rachel and not Rachel Berry.

It wasn't quite wanting to drive to the nearest field, but it was close enough for now.

They hadn't left Quinn's place until the last possible minute because Quinn needed to use as close to bedtime as she could get, or there would be no chance of sleep at Rachel's. It was late when they got back, close to midnight Rachel noted, making them both a cup of coffee a little while later as Quinn got changed in the bathroom.

Unless Rachel was under duress and slept fitfully, if at all, she drank decaffeinated coffee. On a regular day, she didn't need the extra energy. She used a low-calorie sweetener sugar for the same reason. Real sugar mixed with caffeine would have her climbing the walls, especially before bed.

They drank it at the breakfast bar and Quinn didn't stop Rachel when she spoke about Florida and what would have to happen at each of the airports and while they were there. Quinn knew she would have to step up her game and not make it glaringly obvious that she was an addict. She would have to wear a plastic smile and not allow any edginess or irritability to latch on and give her an attitude. Rachel agreed, and assured her that their friends had her back if it came to that.

And if there was one thing Rachel had learned on her travels, it was that you don't fuck with airline or airport staff. You play by their rules.

Quinn had packed a suitcase already. In spite of her reluctance to go there in the first place, she wanted to be prepared. Rachel, of course, had done no such thing. She would wait until the last possible minute like always, and no doubt end up buying forgotten items in Florida.

"Will the press be at the airport?" Quinn inquired. "Do they show up like that for you?"

"Quinn, the only way the press know I'm at an airport is if an overzealous fan has stalked their way to that information or someone from my team calls them to tell them."

"Right, so it's about publicity. If you and all your friends —some of whom are also plastered across billboards and the charts— are working together to make that one epic CD for a selfless cause, do you not think yours or anyone else's _team_ is going to use that to their advantage in selling it? Be realistic."

Rachel blew on the surface of her coffee even though the last cautious sip let her know that it had cooled enough to cease the action. "It's a possibility," she remarked. "But I told Johnny and the rest of the staff to sit on that bomb. It's not like he can control what happens in Florida, he's not God, but the airports should be safe territory. But if they're not, we'll deal with it, okay? All of us, together."

"I'll have to wear sunglasses," Quinn mused, her brows cutely furrowed. "And a hat. They won't get my glare on camera if they can't see my eyes, or half of my face."

"Don't forget your earplugs."

"They'll be in, don't worry."

"You can always hide behind Finn. They won't be able to get a shot if all they can see is your feet."

Quinn thought that was a great idea.

She wondered how a sleepy, less-able-to-tolerate-anyone's-bullshit Rachel handled having people screaming her name and flashes going off in oversensitive eyes, and then recalled a false, overly enthusiastic smile that Rachel used to wear at school. Quinn wondered if it was still the same. The prospect of finding out wasn't something she was looking forward to. It wasn't something she wanted to see again. She liked Rachel best when she was unrestrained, and knew Rachel liked herself best that way too.

X

Despite the efforts made to ensure that Quinn was as comfortable as she could be before bed, she didn't sleep more than a couple of hours. It was too difficult to fall and then stay asleep when she hadn't used minutes before going to bed. She lay on the couch and wallowed in misery for a while, then tried to listen for any signs of Rachel's neighbours being involved in a domestic. The silence told her they weren't. It was always worse to be sick during the night. Time moved slower and the world outside was muted, leaving a much smaller chance for distraction. She couldn't take the lower back pain or distract herself to pretend it wasn't there. Quinn's position varied from lying down to sitting up more times than she could count but it was the deepest, sharpest ache she could imagine without it being the level of hell that came with full-blown withdrawal. It was up there with her back labour pains all those years ago.

As she wasn't out of her mind with the spasms, she was able to remember some advice that she'd been given in hospital and forced herself up on her feet no matter how much she thought she couldn't do it, and paced the room with her hands placed low on her back.

It made her think of Beth and she imagined the most perfect little girl lying asleep in her bed somewhere in the country, her bedroom filled with everything Quinn knew she would never have been able to provide for her.

Hours passed so slowly that she wondered how people who got a full eight hours of sleep a night could complain of tiredness the next day.

By the time the sky was beginning to lighten, Quinn was leaning against the balcony outside, trying to experience what a sunrise in New York looked like for Rachel. When she wasn't thinking about how the solution to her discomfort was _right there_ (right there as in, at her apartment. She didn't want to use at Rachel's place. Of course, she'd changed her mind by now seeing as making that decision she'd been blissfully tranquil and would now like to go back in time to revise her actions), she was thinking about how much she had to do in the next few days and how she couldn't be bothered with any of it.

When she wasn't thinking about any of those things, her mind muted like static, shutting off and tricking her into thinking she may get another hour's rest if she went back to the couch. It always jumped back to life with racing, fleeting thoughts the second she attempted to pull herself away from the skyline.

Rachel awoke the next morning to the sound of vomiting.

Quinn had been ill once a day for the past three. She'd assured Rachel that it was part of the deal when cutting back or quitting altogether. As repugnant as the act was itself —and it remained like pure acid erupting from her body each time— Quinn promised her that she always felt better afterwards, and she did. For a few minutes.

Rachel had got out of bed and had her fist poised to knock on the main bathroom door when there was a rumble of water rushing out through the taps as Quinn filled the bath. Rachel heard her moving around in there, dropping the cap to her toothbrush before a softer stream of water sprayed out.

"Quinn?"

There was a delay, and then, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Rachel would have been getting up soon anyway, so it didn't matter. She shifted her weight to the other foot, peering to the couch which Quinn had obviously vacated some time ago. The pillows and blankets were already neatly folded, cushions arranged back in their rightful place. "It's fine, I— I wanted to say that if you need anything…"

It was a silly thing to say under the circumstances. _Something_ definitely came to mind and she regretted it the moment the words were out there. She should have been more specific.

Luckily, Quinn took it the way Rachel intended it.

"Thank you."

Rachel pushed her teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip and played with the belt on her robe.

"You better not be worried out there," Quinn called out around half a mouthful of toothpaste.

"No," Rachel dismissed.

"Your voice goes higher when you lie."

Rachel smiled, but it was half-hearted and full of apprehension. "Can I see you, just for second? It would put my mind at ease."

"Hang on."

She assumed Quinn was quiet for a minute because she was finishing up brushing her teeth. When she was finally given the go-ahead to enter the room Quinn was clutching a towel around her body and drying her mouth on a smaller towel.

"See?" Quinn said.

Rachel could tell she was putting in a great deal of effort to appear recovered but the truth was Quinn looked worse than she'd ever seen, including those times she'd seen her so far gone that she had no control over her body. Even steeling her muscles, Quinn was shaking. Rachel opted for trying her best, also. She smiled faintly and reached a hand up to hold Quinn's face, smoothing her thumb over an expanse of skin. It was the physical reassurance that she was still there that Rachel desired the most.

It made her feel better.

Quinn seemed to understand that, and let Rachel take what she needed to. And it remained, invariably, that Quinn's eyes demanded most of Rachel's attention during moments like this.

"So, you're okay? You'll tell me if it's too much?"

Quinn swallowed at tender way in which she was being looked at as Rachel moved her hand to brush a few strands of hair back. Her head tipped forward almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."

X

In no time at all, the next few days crept up on them.

Quinn had kept her promise and did everything in her power to keep herself distracted and so busy that she barely knew if she was coming or going, but there were still the physical and mental side-effects to contend with. There were still the times she had to clench her fists together and think of how happy Rachel and her friends were with her when she was a second away from leaving to take all of the pain away. She had to think of how well she was doing and that she was almost proud of herself.

She didn't know if it was psychological but as far as Quinn could tell, she was deteriorating with every passing day. What wasn't up for discussion was the fact that she was getting increasingly more desperate.

But everyone looked so happy now, she couldn't mess with that. She didn't want to be responsible for breaking the peace; for herself and her friends. For Rachel.

Quinn took three ibuprofen and waited for them to take effect.

Little things like that were okay distractions. The medication she now conceded, being a different kind of desperate, took some of the edge off if taken regularly. Not enough that she didn't feel it anymore but enough not to cry so much over it, and the scalding baths at Rachel's were a godsend. She didn't have a tub at her place so she was making full use of Rachel's while she could. The hot water and bath salts were a lethal combination. She'd found her favourite room.

The nights were always the worst.

With everyone winding down ready for a good night's rest, Quinn was getting wired.

They were all hanging out at Rachel's, and some of them were comparing the night to Christmas Eve as tomorrow was the big day. Rachel still had to pack, big surprise. Finn owed Quinn ten bucks.

Quinn had considered herself dependent on heroin for a long time, and though there were times she did drink heavily, she could go without alcohol for a long time and it wouldn't bother her. It didn't disrupt her ability to function properly without it. So when Santana had suggested a game of shots and ladders (after ribbing Rachel about having a chutes and ladders board game in the first place, and Rachel insisting that it was for her neighbours' kids she sometimes babysat for), nobody thought anything of it. Even Quinn. Her only issue was that she'd spew her guts if she had a drink.

While Mike and Sam got up to get the shot glasses and liquor (and water for Quinn's shots), Rachel turned to Quinn.

"Is this okay? They won't be here till an ungodly hour, I promise. Some of us need our beauty sleep before a long, traumatic flight."

Quinn didn't bother saying that a flight from New York to Florida could hardly be considered a long journey. "It's your place."

"I know, but if you're not feeling well I can ask them to go."

"They're fine."

"Are you?" Rachel asked, looking down.

"Yeah," Quinn replied flatly. When she thought about it, she sighed. "Sorry… I'm restless. Is it all right if I use the guest room to work out?"

"Sure, but won't you need an assistant of sorts?"

"On it." Quinn braced her hand against Rachel's knee as she pushed herself off the floor to her feet. "Puckerman."

Puck was distracted by Quinn's voice and the blue game piece he'd stolen from Finn was subsequently stolen back. She was walking away and he got up to follow her when Rachel offered them both a warning.

"Don't kill each other."

He wasn't sure what Rachel meant by that because as far as he was concerned, Quinn following through with her promise to cut back was enough of a reason to lose his attitude and begin supporting her in any and every way he could instead of just tough love. They hadn't exchanged a bad word in days.

Puck trailed her until they were in Rachel's guest bedroom and Quinn was closing the door behind them.

He couldn't help the way his eyebrows lifted. "What's this?"

"I want to punch you," she stated.

Puck smiled, relaxing. "When don't you want to punch me?"

"I'm being serious."

"Oh." Instinctually, he was inclined to fold his arms as a shield. Quinn had put on a few pounds the past couple of months but she was still slight. Nevertheless, something told him that she could inflict some damage if she wanted to. Shit. That's what Rachel meant. "As badass as I'll look, I can't have a black eye for the trip. And it's going to be like an oven down there… my shirt's going to be off from the moment the plane touches down, so you can't leave any marks there. Same goes for my legs, but I made Mercedes a promise that I'd at least keep some shorts on. The only place that's left is…" Puck swallowed tightly, looking panicked. He clasped his hands in front of his crotch.

Quinn rolled her eyes and threw him one of two striking pads. "I'm on edge all the time and I can't sleep at night, I'm too restless. Rachel thought these might be a good idea, so here we are; killing two birds with one stone."

Puck eyed the pad warily, but slid his hand inside it and awkwardly caught the other that Quinn tossed across the room. If she wanted to be physically exhausted and anger-free before bed, he would make it happen. It was the second best way he knew how but it wasn't like that between them anymore (and probably never had been considering the circumstances).

"So, can I?" Quinn queried.

"I'm wearing the things, aren't I?"

She put her gloves on and paced forward, stopping in front of him. She was going to thank him, but he spoke first.

"You look hot."

Quinn's fist shot out towards his face and Puck had to deflect it quickly. He was grinning when he pulled the pad away, and Quinn had a satisfied, not unkind smirk on her face.

"I'm not going to go easy on you," she told him. "That's why I asked you instead of anyone else."

"You mean instead of Rachel?"

"She's a person, so I guess so."

"Yeah, but she's not just anyone, is she? Not to you. At least not anymore. We all see the way you look at her when you think no-one's looking."

"If I wanted to chat, gossip girl, I would have told you. Put your hands up and shut up."

Puck did as he was told, and the force of Quinn's fist barely registered. It was largely in part due to him being used to working out with guys, but the other explanation was that Quinn needed to be worked up before she could work out.

"What was that?"

"Shut up," she repeated testily as she hit the pads again.

"I just wouldn't have put on the protective gear if I'd have known I was in the room with Stuart Little." Quinn hit him a little harder but it was still lacking. "Are you thinking about Rachel? Is that why you're hitting like a wuss?"

Quinn frowned. "No, I am not thinking about Rachel."

"Wanna know what I think?"

"You mean to tell me there's more than one brain cell in that thick head?"

Puck easily deflected another two of her strikes. "I think if anyone else asked you to cut down, you'd tell them to get bent. Before you deny it, I know Santana asked you to, and I know you didn't do anything about it."

"Santana was a bitch that day. I was really going to listen to her, wasn't I?"

"Did you know that you have an excuse for everything? Is that a chick thing, a Quinn thing, an addict thing, or an all of the above thing?"

Quinn struck him harder. "It's a shut your face thing."

He blocked her attack and pushed his arms forward, shoving her backwards. "I wonder if Beth's used her fists yet. If she's anything like me, she'll already be tearing up the school yard."

"That's inspiring," Quinn remarked dryly, finding her footing again.

"Unless she's like you, then she's probably gonna get her ass handed to her." Puck had barely finished his sentence when Quinn's right hook jolted his arm backwards, feeling sharp against the pad, the way it was supposed to.

Her voice came out the same way. "I know what you're doing, but I don't need to be worked up."

He shrugged in defense. "Just giving you the full package."

"I'm already worked up. That's why we're doing this. Now, are you going to be a friend by shutting up and helping me out, or what?"

Puck looked at her seriously this time, taking on her words. She was right, his attitude wouldn't help even if that's all he'd been trying to do. The same thing had been happening almost every day since the day she walked into the studio and he felt his stomach bottom out at the sight of her, at the fear he'd felt.

"I'm sorry." He caught the nod that Quinn gave him in response. "Kind of about everything."

"I know."

"Do you? Because I really mean it."

"Yes, but I'd be certain of it if you let me work off some of this steam."

Puck straightened up. "Okay, but you have to let me work you out my way. I won't go easy on you. Your body's gonna feel like dead weight."

True to his word, he didn't, though because of the late hour they left the bedroom thirty minutes later, both sweating.

There might have been some childish comments if they hadn't all been clued in to Puck and Quinn's whereabouts when the game began, or if any of them were stupid and blind. It looked like the game had just finished and that Rachel was the winner. She didn't look like she'd had even one drink. Although by the looks of them, almost everybody seemed to fair only a little worse off than Rachel. Sam, on the other hand, had glassy eyes and a red tinge to his cheeks. He had placed last in the entire game. Poor thing.

Rachel's expression lightened when she saw Quinn enter the room. "How did it go?"

Quinn's arms felt like jelly and she was ready for bed. It had been a success and she managed to ruffle Rachel's hair affectionately on her way past the couch to get a bottle of water from the fridge to satisfy her thirst. "Good."

Sweat was making her clothes stick to her, so she left for a shower after saying goodnight to her friends in case she didn't see them before.

By the time she was finished in there, everyone had gone and Rachel was getting changed for bed. Quinn went back to the kitchen and began clearing away the mess. She tidied up the bottles and put them back in their rightful place and then ran some water to wash the glasses. The dishwasher was empty and free to use but she liked the act of washing up. It was therapeutic and distracting.

A few minutes later Rachel strolled back in the kitchen, spotting Quinn with her hands in soapy water and half of her glass collection drying on the drainer, sparkling clean again. "You don't have to do that."

"I like it."

Rachel's hand touched the small of her back in thanks and then moved around her, picking up a towel to begin drying. "So how are you feeling after your work out? Do you feel better?"

"I might sleep tonight."

When their friends arrived a few hours ago, Quinn took Rachel to one side and told her she was going out. It was unspoken but not unknown what she was leaving the apartment for. She'd promised Rachel she'd be careful and she was.

"That's great."

Quinn started to smile as she used cold water to wash the soap suds off a glass and handed it to Rachel. "Have you packed yet?"

"The case is on my bed, I just have to throw a few things in."

"That's a no, then." Quinn moved on to the mass of shot glasses. "There was a bet on that, you know. Of when you'd pack."

"Who won?"

"Finn owes me ten bucks."

Rachel tried to look mildly displeased with her but she couldn't keep it up. "Congratulations. As I'm the person responsible for your windfall, I think it's only fair you spend the money on me."

"Do you?"

"Yes. You can buy me a drink tomorrow."

Quinn shook her head. "I've already paid for you to have a drink. Remember Big Bill?"

"Fine, you can take care of my room service."

"With ten dollars? Are you planning on limiting yourself to one packet of peanuts?"

"I'm sure we can find some way to spend the money."

Quinn was sure of that, too.

X

Quinn fell asleep relatively quickly when she got under the covers. She didn't even hear Rachel walking around her room pulling clothes out of closets and drawers, or the can of hair spray she dropped in the bathroom.

But a few hours later and she woke to the vivid memory of a nightmare.

After forty minutes, it became obvious that she wouldn't be falling back asleep any time soon. Quinn was exhausted and she tossed and turned restlessly, resisting the urge to pull her hair out.

She got up to use the bathroom, keeping the light off because she was sure its brightness would be like daggers through her skull.

Upon going back to bed, she found that she had a little visitor.

Rachel was in the middle of lying down on the floor in front of the couch and pulled the covers up to her chin as Quinn climbed over the back of the couch so she didn't step on her.

"What are you doing?" Quinn wondered.

"I heard you up."

"And you decided to keep me company?"

"I can't sleep," Rachel confessed.

"Why not?"

"I get really nervous on planes."

"You'll be okay," Quinn said, as if she was all-knowing.

Rachel wasn't appeased. "What if we crash?"

"Unlikely."

"But not impossible."

"You're impossible," Quinn said, glancing down to her fondly.

Rachel folded her arms over the covers. "Will you make sure Kurt and Blaine don't get me too inebriated before or during the flight? Nothing is going to make me feel worse than feeling that heat with a hangover —I get terrible hangovers."

"I'll make sure." It was quiet for a while, but they were both comfortable. Rachel broke it a minute later as she sprung up from the floor like a madwoman.

"Oh, I have something for you!"

Quinn lifted a wry brow. "In your pyjamas?"

Rachel gave her a patented look that said very clearly to shut up, but she didn't know how effective it would be in the dark. She pushed two pills into Quinn's hand. "Nyquil, so you can turn into Sleeping Beauty for one night."

Quinn swallowed them dry but chased them with water when Rachel went to the trouble of stretching an arm up to the table to get it. Rachel took such good care of her. "Thank you." She turned on her side and looked down to her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do your Dads know about me?"

"Of your existence? Yes, they remember you. They're not senile. Not yet, anyway."

"No, I mean about this. Do they know about my…situation, and what you're doing?"

"No," Rachel said softly. "Not yet. But I'm going to tell them soon. They're visiting next month, I can tell them then."

"What are you going to tell them?"

"That's a difficult question."

"Not really," Quinn said. "What do you think they'll say?"

"I don't know," Rachel deflected.

"But you've thought about it. You know them."

"I think they'll have concerns," she admitted.

"That's putting it mildly, don't you think? Not that I don't understand, I'm just saying."

"But I get my compassion from them. They're the most open-minded people I know. It won't be as terrible as you think."

"Yeah, I guess. They let you watch Funny Girl as a kid." Quinn watched Rachel's mouth fall open.

"You insult Babs, you insult me!"

Quinn laughed as she turned over for a kinder position on her back. "Sorry."

"You better be," Rachel warned. "I hold fantastic grudges."

"Yeah, I know. How many did you hold against me when I was a bitch to you in school?"

"That was different."

"It always is."

"Shut up, I'm trying to sleep."

"Good luck on the floor," Quinn offered.

"I'm actually really comfortable," Rachel said contentedly.

"Are your floorboards spectacular as well, Rachel?"

Rachel smiled softly, curling an arm around her pillow to get comfortable. "Everything in this apartment is to be marveled over."

"I'll get right on that."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

"Goodnight."

Rehearsal was over. Florida awaited them.


	14. A Hundred Million Suns

Rachel was the only occupant of the room when her alarm went off at seven AM.

She was first clued into that fact when she rubbed a hand over her face and brushed over a post-it stuck on her head. It' d been a note from Quinn explaining that she'd gone for coffee and not to worry, she planned to make it back in time to catch the plane. What was left unwritten was why Quinn had really gone out but Rachel didn't need it to be spelled out for her every time. She worried for Quinn each time she left the building to use, but at the same time she appreciated that Quinn respected her home enough not to taint it like that.

Due to Rachel's slight exaggeration on the city's morning traffic, she and Quinn were the first of their group to arrive at the airport.

Rachel's driver, Andrew, dropped them off at the curb side directly outside of the terminal and pulled their cases out of the trunk. He had a quick sweep of the inside of the car in case Rachel had left anything behind, which she had done on more than one occasion and then proceeded to beg him to turn around to bring it back.

Rachel gasped when Andrew held out her cellphone in his hand. "Thank you!"

He indulged her with a smile and shake of his head, and then she promised to make arrangements for picking them back up nearer the time. Once he'd driven away from the curb and another car nearly took Andrew's bumper off in their haste to occupy the space, Quinn looked up from the tag on her case, making sure her address (really Rachel's) was eligible.

"Did you remember your ID?"

It was a joke but for a split second Rachel hesitated when answering. There had been several occasions in the past where she'd left it in a different purse. Luckily, it was safely nestled away in her travel wallet.

Quinn didn't like the smell outside of airports. The car exhausts and burned rubber always made her feel somewhat nauseous and this morning, coupled with her anxiety, it was no different. The excessive, impatient honking didn't help either. On a regular morning they were background noise, but today was no regular morning and they were harsh on her senses as they stood outside the terminal waiting for their friends.

They people watched.

Rachel, when she wasn't biting her tongue not to ask Quinn if she was sure she was all right, took in the strangers happily, watching people embrace and kiss hello or goodbye, excited for their travels or happy to be home. Quinn seemed to spot all of the miserable business men and women who travelled regularly and resented being away from their family so much. She didn't realise it at the time, but she looked equally as unapproachable as they did; treating everyone as a potential paparazzi suspect.

Fifteen minutes later and Rachel left her bags with Quinn while she went to use the restroom inside.

Quinn's stomach churned the way she imagined everybody's did when they were flying out of state or country, but it was more than that, of course. She had a feeling this trip was going to change everything and she couldn't tell if it was going to be a good or bad thing.

It didn't help that she was stood around waiting. She needed the distraction that being busy and occupied brought.

After a while, when Quinn was on the receiving end of another hard stare from a disgruntled traveller, she realised with startled urgency that Rachel had not returned.

Rachel had said that their spot outside was perfect as it was visible from all angles and they would be spotted right away when the group arrived but Quinn was unaffected with such trivialities and had a firm hold of their cases as she turned around to go inside. She had to give the bottom of Rachel's case a hard prod with her foot and pull at the same time for it to tip the extreme weight, and then she was off.

When she found the nearest restroom Quinn released the cases at the door and barged in there, narrowly missing a woman and her young son waiting in line. She spotted Rachel standing in front of a blue sink, primping her hair in the mirror with nonchalance.

Quinn apologised softly to the woman, because she would have felt awful if she'd actually hit her or the toddler.

Addressing Rachel, however, she wasn't so polite.

"Rachel," she said stiffly.

"Is everyone here?"

"No."

Rachel looked confused and she turned around to see Quinn properly. "Do you need to go?" A second later, it was followed with, "Where are our bags?"

"No, and safe," Quinn said, trying to calm down now that her mind was at ease. She didn't know if the bags were safe at all. "Let's go."

Rachel focused on the mirror again and ran her fingers back through her hair, pushing it up from the roots to give it more body. "Just a second."

"Your hair's not going to get much better, come on."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Quinn knew that tone. "I mean, it's perfect, let's go."

Thankfully their bags were still outside of the door. They made their way back outside and when they got to the doors, Rachel peered at Quinn's face as they broke in opposite directions to avoid their shins being split open by an over-enthusiastic ten-year-old boy pushing the luggage trolley around like a lunatic.

She could see the tension etched to her face and was able to reflect on what just happened.

"You don't have to be so worried."

"I'm not."

When the coast was clear, Rachel moved closer to her. "You burst in there like you were."

It was obvious by the silence that Quinn didn't want to talk about it, so Rachel linked their arms together as they waited for their friends.

Artie was the first of the group to arrive, followed by Tina, Mercedes, and Sam.

In the end, the three to hold everyone up were Finn, Kurt, and Blaine.

Rachel and Santana were checking their watches every two minutes, and Mercedes kept texting Kurt for updates. They'd been stuck in traffic for twenty minutes. Mike and Puck had been roped into helping three elderly ladies get their luggage out of the trunk and were paid with kisses to the cheek, much to the amusement of their friends. Puck shrugged it off. One of the women reminded him of his Nana and knew she'd be proud of him for what he was doing.

Quinn saw Rachel tap the face of her watch and put it up to her ear and, in doing so, caught sight of a middle-aged man standing slightly off from the group, adjusting a lens on his camera. She bristled, trying to keep in mind that she'd seen plenty of tourists with cameras around their necks in an attempt to squeeze the last few minutes out of the vacation by snapping a few shots at the airport. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Then he lifted the camera and aimed it in their direction.

She turned her back on him with an anxious huff, sliding the sunglasses down from her head to cover her eyes.

Rachel noticed the movement and figured out the cause of the problem quickly. She discreetly passed Quinn a tissue in case it was required and was going to stay close to her but thought better of it and moved to the other side of Puck instead, so that she was closest to the camera. She heard her name being called by an unfamiliar voice almost right away.

Those who were used to the attention made an attempt to keep their disdain subtle, and those who had never once been sought after like this (besides Quinn) turned to the camera at least once.

At long last, the final members of the group pulled up.

As they did, the photographer moved closer.

Kurt and Blaine reacted neutrally to the intruder but even without sunglasses on, Quinn didn't think she would have been blind to the confused, bashful smile Finn wore as he got out of the car to his picture being snapped dozens of times.

"Who the hell called this idiot?" Santana asked loudly, indifferent if she was overheard. She could tolerate Mr. Latest Canon if he kept his distance but not when he got in their faces. Now he was asking for a little attitude. "This your fault, Anderson?"

To be fair, Blaine did look apologetic. "I'm so sorry, guys. Quinn, I swear I told my publicist to keep the time of the flight under the radar."

Quinn knew that all of her friends had tried their best to do that for her. She still appreciated their efforts, even if some of them were for nothing. She nodded to let him know she understood and watched Finn get out of the car, milking the moment for all its worth. He'd never been anyone to notice by the media before. It felt good. Of course, the paparazzo was more interested in Kurt and Blaine at that particular moment, but still.

When the guys and their luggage were finally ready to go, Puck did another sweep to conclude that everybody had their things and began to smile. "Finally. Are we done? Can we go?"

With a chorus of cheers, they were off.

"Woo!" Finn's reaction was delayed a second longer than everyone else's. He appeared embarrassed when his friends either laughed or pitied him with a look. Santana did both.

"Simmer down, grasshopper; we're not headed to Miami Beach. It's a disaster zone."

"I'm excited to help," he defended himself, and then spotted Quinn walking apart from the group. He saw Rachel notice a second after he did, and he took three long strides off to the side to be able to reach out and grab Quinn's hand, pulling her back to be with everyone else.

Despite the size of their group, it didn't take as long as some had feared to check in. Quinn was nervous at the desk when her ID was being checked by a woman wearing too much make-up, but other than a prolonged stare and several glances to and from the small photograph and her face it went as smoothly as the others did.

Quinn was handed her boarding pass and her ID.

"You're all done here, sweetie," the woman said. "I hope y'all have a safe flight and are careful out there. I got cousins in Davie; it's still rough."

Quinn hadn't seen any of the news footage over the past two months, but she still couldn't imagine seeing it with her own eyes. She couldn't imagine people who had literally lost everything and were trying every single day to rebuild their lives towards some semblance of normal.

X

One of the label executives had parents living in Ft. Lauderdale and while they had evacuated in time, their city was unrecognisable and no longer home. That's why he gave his pilot permission to fly his singers out there in style. For some of them, it was beyond their wildest dreams. It was better than first class. It was an entire little _plane_ of first class.

Finn, Quinn, and Puck all stood in a line staring up at it.

"Dude," Puck uttered, awed. Finn nodded mutely.

Their gawping was interrupted by Artie.

"Uh, guys, could you—"

They jumped into action, each grabbing a wheel.

"Sorry, man, we were kinda taking it all in," Finn said as he and Puck lifted the wheelchair in the air and they began awkwardly ascending the steps to the plane. "Do you see it? It's…the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Artie shoved his glasses further up his nose. "Hard to miss."

Quinn was still rooted to the spot and she heard Finn's overjoyed exclamation of God once he saw the interior. She smiled at him and then Puck was carrying the empty chair back off the plane and handing it over to a worker. Puck tipped his head at her and she nodded that she was okay, then someone was touching her shoulder. It was Rachel.

"You did great in there," she praised. "You're doing great. Now come on, I want you to sit next to me."

The next thirty minutes consisted of everyone choosing a seat they liked and testing out all of the buttons, seeing how far their seats could recline. Puck certainly wasn't going to _complain_ about the lack of a TV screen because he was sure he'd have to talk through his nervous energy anyway, but he was about to pass comment on it to Finn who was sitting next to him, when Finn gripped his arm hard enough for it to hurt.

"Dude, there's a TV the size of my living room wall over there."

Kurt had pushed a button and out popped a TV. The boys were thrilled.

Kurt was also leaning over the back of Rachel's seat as his was situated directly behind her and Quinn. He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head because he knew she didn't like to fly. His reassurance would have to remain physical as she'd already called her Dads.

It was her pre-flight ritual.

Excluding when she was trying to execute her plan to stun them into silence, Rachel refused to leave the ground unless she'd spoken to each of her parents personally. They calmed her down and talked to her about things that usually distracted her during the flight. She could reflect on things and not dread every time the plane would hit the slightest turbulence. Or each time the plane seemed completely still (wildly untrue, but still), think about how it could drop.

She listened to her Daddy list all of the reasons her Dad was rightfully in the dog house, nodding like he could see her, and rummaged through her bag. It would appear that last week her Dad had planted Grandma Berry's new season plants in the wrong order that she'd requested and refused to fix his mistake. Grandma Berry was a sensitive old lady, something Leroy had not been oblivious to since he began dating her son, so of course now the tension was rife.

Rachel's hand moved around inside her bag for the next minute, accompanied with a small frown. She was one-handed so it was a trying task to begin with. Maybe it would help to have it on her lap.

Quinn, finally comfortable in her seat and all buckled up, gave Rachel a questioning look.

Whatever she was doing, she sure was making it look difficult.

Rachel rubbed her fingers over a soft palm. "Dry," she mouthed, whirling a finger in the air. Her skin got dry on planes. Her Daddy was still ranting —affirming his love for his husband every so often, but ranting nonetheless. "I'm sure if he apologises…" Rachel said to him as Quinn lifted the bag onto her own lap.

"He refuses to!" Hiram said. "Do you know what Mom said? My mother said to me, 'Son, just because he had the big C, that does not give him the right to be a big D.' I was… baby, I've never heard her use language like that. For her to even _allude_ to—"

"He's going to have to bake," Rachel proclaimed. "A lot."

A travel-sized bottle of lotion was located in one of the inside zip compartments to Rachel's Mary Poppins' bag. Quinn touched her fingers to Rachel's and pushed her hand down to expose her palm, depositing a generous amount onto it. Rachel smiled her thanks and tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder to work the lotion into her skin. Quinn zipped everything back up and was leaning down to put the bag on the floor when Rachel impulsively reached her hand out to swipe the excess over Quinn's cheek.

Quinn laughed for the first time that morning, rubbing the cream over the side of her face as Mercedes and Tina exchanged suspicious looks.

Not too much later, they were all asked to switch off any electrical devices to prepare for take-off. A female flight attendant stared at Rachel as she rushed through a goodbye to her parents who had put her on speakerphone.

"Okay, I'm being forced to cut this short like I'm in a correctional facility but I love you both so much. Dad, Grandma won't let this go and you know it, you have to get in the kitchen. Daddy, don't forget, your selective hearing is your best asset when she's ranting. And both of you remember you're my guide for future relationships. I learn from you, so don't be giving me any bad habits, okay? Be _mature_ and be nice to each other."

Kurt heard Rachel laugh softly. He turned and kneeled on his seat, gently pulling the phone away from her ear. "Say goodbye," he urged quietly.

Rachel dug blunt nails into the back of his hand as her Dad was running through _his_ ritual of telling her that everything would be fine, keep busy, and he'd talk to her when she landed in Florida.

"I can do this," she echoed, and felt Kurt begin to take the phone away again. This time she let him. "Bye Dads, love you! Send me pictures of the cookies!"

Kurt hurriedly switched the device off and held it up for the flight attendant to see. "All right, it's off!" he declared to cheers. "Let's go."

Rachel thrust an expectant hand into the air. "Thank you." She put her phone back in her bag once Kurt handed it over. Her head was full of everything her Dads had just told her for the next couple of minutes, then the plane began to turn around. She turned sideways. "I never asked, are you okay being on here?"

Quinn thought it would be extremely difficult to come up with a reason not to be comfortable on a plane like that. "I'd feel better if we were all in coach."

"Sometimes I _miss_ coach," Rachel stated. "The grittiness of it."

Kurt chuckled behind them. "Coach. Rach, the word you're looking for is shittiness."

"Ah, so you're both spoiled. Got it," Quinn said. There was no rebuttal from either of them, and she remembered a particular conversation taking place in her apartment. "Is this why they call you a diva?" she asked Rachel, getting a smile out of her.

"No, I'm branded as one when I'm late, rushing to a final rehearsal before opening night with the flu and a hundred-and-one degree fever and I don't stop to sign handfuls of headshots by people who sell them online."

"Bitch," came Kurt's derisive voice behind.

The plane had straightened up and they began a slow crawl that soon gained speed, steadily forcing people's backs against their seats and, for others, testing the stability of their seatbelts.

Quinn stuck out her hand. "Just, um, don't break it."

Rachel took Quinn's hand gratefully, keeping the fact that she loved take off and landing, it was the middle part that she couldn't stand to herself. Her stomach lurched wonderfully as the wheels left the runway and she was tipped backwards in her seat. To keep up the show, she thought it was best to squeeze Quinn's hand.

Mercedes and Tina were holding on to their armrests like it would prevent them from tumbling forward and falling on their friends if their seatbelts were to malfunction. It was the same level of paranoia that had Rachel thinking the plane would drop out of the sky at any given moment when they'd be stationary in the sky fifteen minutes later.

Tina laughed nervously with a thought. She glanced to the three people around her. "It would be pretty awkward if I fell right now."

Mercedes chuckled. "Rachel would be getting one heck of a hug from me."

"I wouldn't mind, Mercedes," Rachel asserted happily. "I could use a hug, actually."

"Now? I thought you loved take off."

Through the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Quinn look at her. "What? No, I'm terrified."

"Right," Tina drawled dubiously.

Quinn didn't comment on it.

Quinn didn't say anything until the plane had been upright in the air for several minutes and Rachel released her hand. "Okay?" she queried.

"Yes, I'm— I think I'm through the worst of it."

Quinn considered challenging her on that because Rachel didn't sound too sure, but she was interrupted by the flight attendant walking up to them to ask if any of them wanted something to drink. Mercedes and Tina both ordered sodas, and Kurt was placing Rachel's order before the attendant had even looked at her.

"She'll have two vodkas, no ice."

The attendant lifted her eyebrows at Rachel, as if for confirmation, and filed it away once she got it. She looked to Quinn. "What can I get you?"

"The same," Kurt said.

"No way," Quinn smiled. "Um, what kind of juice do you have?"

"Juice?" came a mocking echo from somewhere behind them. Santana. "Have a drink, Q. If you start to feel nauseated, I bet Tina's got the contents of her medicine cabinet in her purse."

It was more or less accurate.

The flight attendant began to list so many different types of juice that Quinn had to cut her off. "Orange," she decided randomly. "Pulp's fine."

When the four drinks were served a minute later, Rachel had downed hers like water in the time it took Quinn to take a sip of hers.

"A wonderful choice," Rachel declared in regards to Quinn's drink.

Quinn licked her lips to prevent them from curving upwards. "Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Did yours even touch the sides?"

Rachel had the sense to look sheepish. "I don't really like liquor neat, so I have to down it in one."

As the others were being served, Tina took to wondering if they had any candy on board. She was waiting until everybody had a drink before asking, but that didn't stop her from stating her overwhelming urge for something sweet. She was picturing a bag of Haribo's: her favourite. It wasn't likely to be stocked on the plane though, so her heart wasn't set.

"What's your favourite candy in the world?" she asked Quinn, hoping to get other ideas if Haribo was a no-go.

"Jelly beans."

Rachel's head whipped round. "Really?"

Quinn wasn't exactly about to deceive her friends in the name of candy. "Yep."

Ten minutes later and everybody had ordered a snack, too. The only candy on board was large bags of M&M's. Tina, Mercedes, Sam, Puck, and Finn were out of their seats now, squeezed up on the couch on the other side of the divider as they watched whatever movie they'd chosen as a group, passing the bag back and forth. At Tina's insistence, Finn got the bag the least often; citing the unfairness that his gorilla hands were twice the size of hers.

Rachel began to fidget in her seat and ordered a large glass of white wine.

She took a lengthy sip once it arrived but she didn't gulp it like she wanted.

Quinn looked up from her book that she'd started reading. "Maybe you should pace yourself." She found it ironic that she was there telling Rachel to show some restraint, but she was only saying it because she didn't want to see her suffer with a hangover after what Rachel had said last night.

"I am."

The glass was drained by the time Quinn had read another chapter.

Rachel had her seat reclined and was listening to music on her iPod, staring out of the window at the scene below her. She never used to be afraid of flying, but when she was relocating to New York permanently her flight had hit the worst turbulence she had ever experienced. Many people in her section panicked and it spread quickly. Her fathers were with her at the time, so now she was heavily reliant on their words of comfort. She was trying to recall those words now, and the details of the petty non-verbal fight her Dad was in with his Mother-in-law. Regardless of how funny she found her eighty-six-year-old Grandma calling her Dad a dick in not so many words, the tears begun their descent down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes to the view below and tried to picture the plane touching down in Florida.

When that, too, proved to be ineffective and her stomach knotted uncomfortably and she felt the sickening breathlessness that usually came with panic, Rachel sensed that it wouldn't be long before her friends were teasing her over the waterworks.

Her earphones were plucked out from each ear by somebody else. The music was playing so loud that she could still hear the words blaring out from each earpiece, now resting on her lap and down the side of her seat.

"Rach, you're fine," Quinn said quietly, even though their friends were all too occupied to be eavesdropping.

When Rachel opened her eyes again there was concern swimming in the hazel ones gazing at her. She nodded, also keeping her voice hushed not to be the centre of attention. "I know, but I can't stop. I keep thinking—"

Quinn pushed her fingers through Rachel's so she was holding her hand. "You can Hulk out, if you want. Crush it."

Besides a grateful squeeze, Rachel made no attempt of the sort. Once she'd wiped her face, she turned her body towards Quinn's. "I do this every time. I'll be fine as soon as we land."

There was no doubt in Quinn's mind that that was the truth but she also knew that there was another two and half hours to get through with Rachel being so anxious that she couldn't even control the way she reacted. Quinn couldn't tell which was worse: having Rachel's stubbornly refusing to look at her when she was distressed, or being the sole recipient of an overly worried stare.

For now, she would simply be grateful that Rachel was not crying over her.

Quinn pulled the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth and watched Rachel's face streak with additional tears. Others followed over the next minute and she thought it was impressive how subtle Rachel was being about the whole thing.

"I don't know if this will work, but I'm going to try distracting you," Quinn said, leaning towards her in a way that had Rachel unsure about what was going to happen. But Quinn merely wanted it to be the two of them in a little bubble. She didn't want any of their friends involved. "Ask me anything."

"Anything?" Rachel's voice had a hopeful undertone to it, and she received an actual nod of confirmation. "What's your favourite kind of cuisine? You still haven't told me."

"Probably Chinese. Growing up, my Dad was… not so adventurous with food, it always had to be American. When he was away working a lot, trying to get a promotion, my Mom would always either drive me and my sister to a really great Chinese restaurant outside of town, or she'd order in. A couple of times after my sister left and got married, even though my Mom wasn't exactly a fan of the food herself, she tried to make it from scratch for me."

"Was it a disaster?"

"No," Quinn smiled. "My Mother excelled being a wife. In her eyes, that also meant being a wonderful cook, and she was. Probably still is."

Rachel's tears had stopped. "Does she know about the addiction?"

Quinn took a little longer to surrender that information, but reluctantly admitted, "No. I haven't… I haven't talked to my Mom since I left. But even before then, it's not like we were close, especially when I joined the Skanks. God, I think she nearly had an aneurysm when she saw them on the other side of our front door for the first time."

"Do you miss her?" That question was not answered, and Rachel knew how difficult it would be but she needed to know that she and Quinn were at that place now and how much Quinn would do for her if she just asked. Rachel didn't press her or try to rush it, but she also didn't change the subject.

"Yeah," Quinn ultimately confessed in a way that suggested she carried a large amount of regret over the way she handled that situation.

"Maybe—maybe when this is all over you can go see her."

Quinn nodded but she didn't think she'd ever be able to look her mother in the eyes again. She was saved from getting stuck in her own head when Rachel moved on to something a little lighter, asking what the last great album she heard was.

As earlier stated, Rachel was back to her usual self as soon as they touched down on the runway.

X

While the group was standing up to stretch or peer out of the windows, their luggage was loaded off the plane. Puck pointed out the palm trees like he had never seen one outside of movies and television before, and after a moment everyone realised that he probably never had.

They followed the staleness of airport regulations and were then collecting their cases, pulling them towards the arrivals exit. As soon as the automatic doors separated to allow them exit, most of their expressions switched rapidly from excitement to discomfort.

Shrouded in relentless heat, Finn appeared to have trouble breathing. "Who took all the air?"

Quinn stood to the side of him, squinting up at the cloudless sky. She slid her sunglasses down over her eyes to shield them, not giving off the impression that she was fairing any better. Summers in New York could be murder on everyone, but this was different. It felt a different kind of extreme, a different kind of stifling heat.

"It's hot as balls," Sam commented disdainfully, transferring the cap from his head to Mercedes'.

Blaine took in the scenery with a squint and a smile, unaffected by the level of humidity. "I like it."

"Your boyfriend's a freak," Finn said to his brother, and witnessed Kurt willingly touch another human body in spite of the scorching sun.

"I know," he replied, his arm slung around Blaine's shoulders.

It had only been a couple of months since the hurricane had happened but the local press still had better things to do than stalk their arrival. Everyone felt the relief, especially Quinn. They felt it again when their transportation to their hotel pulled up in front of them and the air-conditioning was already on in full force.

They were staying outside of Ft. Lauderdale in an area that had since recovered from the back-end winds that the hurricane brought with it. Even the least severe winds had damaged retail and property and uprooted trees but compared to the way Lauderdale had been ravaged, the residents could only view their damage as mercy from Him.

Quinn had been lucky enough to have stayed in luxury accommodation before but it had been years since she'd stepped foot inside a four or five-star hotel and memory was always little consolation to the real deal. There were few exceptions to this rule. She was so accustomed to living in her old run-down building that walking through the doors to their hotel was like experiencing it for the first time.

The soft lighting was a welcome relief for her eyes and she removed her glasses to see the lobby properly. It was empty of guests and the three large front desks were manned with approachable staff that looked as if they enjoyed their work, or at least didn't hate it the way she hated hers. Those of the group who'd only ever dreamed of staying in a place like that stumbled forward with the rest of their friends once they began their journey over to the desks, in a state of muted awe. Mike bumped into a ficus while he was staring at the floor that had been polished and buffed to its highest standard. Finn knocked his knuckles against a marble pillar and turned his mouth down to Puck who'd watched the action and nodded, silently appraising the place.

Quinn watched Rachel approach the desk with a friendly smile like this kind of living was her way of life, and judging from the kind of apartment she lived in and how well her general audience album had been received, both on home turf and abroad, it was safe to say that Rachel didn't ever have to settle for anything but the best again. It was nice. It made Quinn think that there was still one thing right in the world. If Rachel had stayed broke and undiscovered then Quinn would know the world really was fucked.

It probably still was, but she was sure that nobody could compare to Rachel when she was singing; certainly nobody Quinn had ever met in person and she was standing with her nauseatingly talented friends all around her. Rachel's voice could enrich people's lives. Quinn could imagine every kind of person singing along to Rachel's music on a hot summer's night with the windows down, during road-trips or those times where a person wanted to wallow after a break-up when nothing is ever going to be the same again, and after, celebrating the same set of circumstances. She could imagine the people who would be off-put at first but having Rachel's latest single in their heads anyway and despising it, only to catch themselves turning it up when it was on the radio a week later and belting it out.

Quinn could imagine all of the young girls who wanted to be just like Rachel Berry.

The world could use them.

X

The only two people to get a room next to each other were Artie and Mike. The rest were scattered down the hall or on different floors completely. Rachel found it fortunate that her room was only four from Quinn's. She didn't want to crowd her but at the same time she wanted to be close to her and let her know that she wasn't far away should she need anything.

Once everyone had chance to begin settling into their rooms, Rachel invited her over.

There was a quick tour that Quinn found endearingly amusing because her room was like a mirror image of Rachel's. She pretended to be interested anyway, and by the time Rachel was shutting the blinds and stripping off a thin cardigan that she'd stubbornly kept on despite the heat outside, Quinn lost some of the humour she'd previously felt. She couldn't help but feel a tangible energy as Rachel got on the bed and told her to sit down.

Quinn perched on the end of it and waited to see what Rachel told her to do next. She'd stayed in cheap motels over the past six years but not a hotel like this. The last nice one she'd stayed in was in New York when they were all kids who thought they were adults.

But Rachel's next words weren't a command but a question. "Do you want to lie down with me?"

"What about the director? Aren't we supposed to be leaving in an hour?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "But we're going to be shooting for the rest of the day and the better part of the night, trust me when I tell you that you'll wish you'd taken a nap."

"Here?"

"No, in the hall," Rachel mocked. "Yes, here. How much space do you think I'm going to take up?" For some reason Quinn seemed nervous; something Rachel didn't see from her often. "You don't have to stay; it's just that I know you won't sleep if you're alone. Other than… being uncomfortable, you won't be able to shut off and you'll be too nervous about today if you go back to your room. I get it. It's like stage fright. On the few times I've been unfortunate to experience it, it's always helped to be around someone."

"Yeah, okay," Quinn agreed softly. She pulled her shoes off and placed them neatly by the bed before she reclined. There was barely chance for her to decide if she needed to adjust the position of her pillows when Rachel was moving up to her so they were side by side. Quinn could feel how warm her skin was.

"You'll be amazing," Rachel asserted, breaking the quiet a minute later. "I know you're nervous but try to remember that the worst part of doing something that terrifies you is the moment before it happens. The rest is easy. And in three days, we'll all be back in New York."

"Thanks, Rachel."

She didn't want to bother Quinn with tired questions of the state of her well-being over the next few days, but she also needed to be kept in the loop. She wouldn't be able to stand it if Quinn was in pain and she wasn't aware of it. Rachel knew Quinn would be in a lot of pain and they'd talked about that before they left, how she would try to deal with it, but when it came to be too much and Quinn couldn't continue with work and needed a break to gather herself, Rachel and the group would cover for her and promised to check on her often.

Rachel turned her head to look at Quinn. "Will you tell me if it feels like too much, if you feel like you can't do it?" she asked. "I know you already said you want privacy when you're sick, and I won't push, but you know everyone would gladly have you in their rooms the next couple of nights, myself included. I still think that's the safest option."

"I'll tell you," Quinn said.

"Promise?"

Quinn's mouth began to curve when she saw Rachel's pinky finger stuck up between them. She grabbed it, pushing Rachel's hand back to the bed where she curled her fingers around the smallest digit instead, holding it. Rachel's little hands were cute to her.

"Yeah, I promise."

It was a couple of minutes before Rachel saw fit to speak again. "You know… I cried when I heard your solo for the first time. It was the day after that fight with everyone at the studio and I had to listen to it alone. I couldn't listen to it with the rest of the guys, so I took the demo home with me and I curled up on my favourite armchair with a blanket and a glass of red wine, and I cried. I knew your voice would blow me away. It's matured so much, gets better every time you're with Carter. A lot of people are going to fall in love with it."

Quinn turned her head to find Rachel's eyes closed. Hers danced over the smooth panes of Rachel's face and the fullness of her lips. "Is that all I make you do? Cry?"

"No."

"Do you promise?"

"Yeah," she opened her eyes to say, finding Quinn looking at her. "I promise."

"I worry—"

"Hey," Rachel cut in, breaking contact between their hands to touch the back of her fingers against Quinn's head. "Be quiet in there. We're good, okay? Close your eyes."

The request was obliged but even those times when Rachel couldn't be seen with her eyes open, Quinn found her hiding underneath her eyelids like a tattoo she never intended to get. The stillness of the room was only broken by the sounds of their breath and the rustle of the sheets when they sought out a more comfortable position.

She opened her eyes the moment she knew Rachel had fallen into slumber, and turned on her side to look at her. Rachel was right; six years was a long time not to see her in the flesh and Quinn wondered how people adapted to change like that. It was a defence mechanism, separate from conscious action despite will, but why wasn't the progress undone with each vivid dream or watching video footage where loved ones were so achingly alive or present? She wondered how well-adjusted people could keep their thoughts from ballooning and exploding inside their heads like fireworks, painting their cheeks with the agony of it all. She wanted to learn that trick, too. She wanted to learn how to distance herself without separating herself.

X

An hour later and everyone but Finn, Puck, Sam, and Mike were ready to go.

They were at the pool acting like a bunch of teenagers, screaming as they ran and bombed into the water, or shoved each other around or into the pool. Finn hadn't noticed his audience of the rest of the group and prepared for a long run to beat Mike's record of the furthest jump when his foot skidded, making his friends' stomachs lurch until he righted himself like nothing had happened and obliterated Mike's record to unequal cheers and jeers from his three friends in the pool.

"Finn!" Rachel's boisterous voice shrieked.

Finn spun around in the water quickly, brows high and his mouth tight. Shit, she looked pissed. He went for the innocent tone and squinted against the sun. "Yeah?"

"What do you think you're doing? You could have fallen!"

Mercedes caught Sam failing to hide an amused quirk of his mouth. "And I don't know what you're smiling about. Out, now. We're going to be late."

Sam pulled himself out of the water without wasting time. He didn't know how it got so late. He walked quickly but carefully, stopping to place a kiss to her cheek. If there was one thing Sam Evans knew how to do, it was to creep.

Finn got out of the pool right after Mike and used him as a shield. Mike never seemed to do anything to upset the women; maybe he could save himself by association.

"Ten minutes, tops," Santana announced.

"I'll be five," Sam said to Mercedes.

Puck was disappointed in the way his friend had folded. "Hey, man?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you left your balls in the pool."

"You could learn a thing or two from him, Noah," Rachel said unapologetically, staring at his soaking wet torso as he approached. "Not to mention that you've probably all burned yourselves out for the rest of the day and how stupid it is to even chance sunburn or a slip and fall on a day like today."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Mom."

Quinn was beside Rachel, catching Finn's eye as he tried to sneak past them without a lecture. "Rachel's right, you could have gotten hurt."

Oh, screw it. His friends were nearby; he was covered if there was an attack. To be on the safe side, though, Finn took an extra precaution by taking longer strides as he called back, "Sorry, Dad!"

Puck laughed at his friend's show of bravery —or stupidity, and then saw that Rachel's hands were planted firmly on her hips. He didn't understand body language and all of the confusing signals women gave him and his friends, but he knew that one. It wasn't good. He sighed and darted forward, locking his arms around her body and lifting her up off the ground. Her outraged screech of protest nearly ruptured his ear drum but it was worth it.

"Noah! Put me down."

"I'm sorry!" he said loudly, to be heard over her. Heswayed her in his arms. "All better?"

"You're getting me all—"

"Say it," he begged. "Please, it'll do so much for my ego."

Rachel scoffed, feeling her clothes soak right through, and sunk her teeth into his neck. She was dropped back to her feet almost instantly as Puck's hand shot to his jugular. Now Rachel could laugh.

"Shit, Selene!" Puck exclaimed.

"She told you to put her down," Quinn pointed out.

He hurried away before he did anything more to get himself maimed.

X

There were three cars in total.

Finn, Rachel, Quinn, and Mercedes were in one car; the last to arrive on location. The other two cars were pulled up outside, all waiting until the group was complete before they went inside. Mercedes was on a video call with Kurt because there were two photographers outside of the warehouse they needed to enter.

"Don't worry," Finn said to Quinn. "We'll get rid of them."

"Where is Santana?" Mercedes asked on the phone. "Is she there? You tell her to get her butt out of that car and make them leave."

"I'm not," Quinn dismissed, beginning to look irritable. While she wanted the press there about as much as she wanted a hole in the head, the humidity and the dwindling level of heroin in her system was making her cranky. She wanted to get inside there and get it over with.

"Santana shouldn't have to deal with this. Where's security?" Rachel demanded.

"Maybe they're grabbing a sub, or somethin'," Finn supplied. "We could wait…see if they come back?"

"Let's just go," Quinn sighed. The idiots with cameras could hang around outside as much as they wanted but they wouldn't be getting through the doors and that was a fact.

Mercedes turned serious as she peered at Kurt and Blaine's faces on her phone. "Okay guys, this is how it's gonna go down. Sam, Mike, and Artie will go first. Santana, Brittany, you next, then Puck, like the gentleman you are, you'll follow behind with Tina. Kurt, Blaine, you'll pave the way for me and Rach. That way there is a ton to focus on and Finn and Quinn can sneak up the back."

It was orchestrated beautifully. Everyone had their picture taken and some of them found the attention to be, despite a little invasive, exhilarating. Mercedes and Rachel's combined status was the icing on the cake to what had already been worth sweating outside in the sun for an hour for to the paparazzi. It was almost enough to distract them from the final two members of the group.

Almost.

One of the two men with cameras attached to their faces was aware of how many members of the group there were and knew a diversion tactic when he saw one. He'd got clear shots of everyone so far and glanced up to see who he would dub "the tall one" until he could recall his name, and a woman next to him; her body mainly blocked from view.

He broke away from the main stars and snapped some shots of Finn.

As decent as some of those shots were, any time he made an attempt to aim his camera at whichever stuck-up blonde was glued to the tall one's side, it would be blocked. He hadn't waited out in the blistering heat to get twelve out of a possible thirteen. No, he wanted a full set and he was going to get it.

He advanced forward and thrust his arm between the tall one and the blonde, pointing the camera towards her face before he'd even got the chance to squeeze his body between them. Once he succeeded, if only momentarily, he said, "Hey, who have we got here? Smile for me real quick?"

There was no hint of one, but he didn't mind. She was gorgeous. He put it continuous shooting mode. "So, are you guys here to shoot the—"

A large hand covered his lens, obstructing his subject entirely. It was the tall one, looking like he was about to break somebody's nose. Finn pulled the camera down harshly and put himself back between Quinn and the idiot who didn't know the meaning of the word boundaries.

"That's not cool, man," Finn frowned.

Quinn was thankful for the arm Finn had around her shoulders and the way he'd handled the situation. She'd been a second away from flinging the camera to the ground. She let him lead her towards the entrance where their friends were waiting.

Santana glared over at the idiot with the Nikon, unable to keep it up for as long as she wanted in case she was snapped with a sour expression. Again. She focused her attention on Finn instead. "We good?"

Finn looked down for the answer and Quinn nodded. "We're good," he said.

Rachel, unconcerned if her publicist was happy with her or not, stared daggers at the photographer walking away. When he glanced up at her, however, she disciplined her expression to one of false warmth. "You can expect a call from my lawyer."

X

The video concept was comprised of two parts; live action and animation. The animation was to tie in with Mike's poster and they were meeting with the animator when they were back in New York to see the progress.

The warehouse turned out to be one of two locations prepared for the shoot over the next couple of days, and though there were fans located all over, the relentless heat outside made it feel like a greenhouse in there and they had to stop for regular hair and make-up touch-ups.

They'd been there for a little over three hours and all they'd done was change into different outfits, decided on hair and make-up after several tests, and film a twelve-second group shot that was going to be placed a minute into the video.

But it might as well have been a holiday by everyone's spirits.

Almost everybody was watching Rachel standing in front of a green screen talking to the director about how he wanted the scene to go and what would be happening on screen once the effects were added. There was nothing to see there but they were excited to see the process for the first time. As for those who had shot videos before, they were merely excited to be sharing it with the people who had been there when they could only dream of days like this.

Mercedes walked away from the group and sat on a chair situated directly in front of a fan. She pulled her hair up from her neck and leaned towards it, closing her eyes. It was instant relief.

An assistant nearly fell over his own feet in his haste to fetch her a bottle of chilled water. Mercedes Jones was gorgeous and he was finally going to get to speak to her alone. Regrettably, his elation was well and truly annihilated when he was intercepted by a blonde who thanked him and took the bottle from his hands.

Quinn smoothed down her dress that the costume people had put her in and perched on a crate. She sat with her back a safe distance from the fan and observed Mercedes warmly, tapping the bottle against her leg several moments later. "I don't know how everyone isn't hogging one of these."

Mercedes took it gratefully. "I'm going to go down a dress size by the time we get back to New York. I'm sweating like a pig."

Quinn couldn't see any more than a light sheen to her forehead that would dry rapidly if she stayed where she was. "You still look good, don't worry."

"We're friends, you have to say that."

"Not true." When Mercedes lifted her eyebrows, Quinn smiled and went on to clarify, "I don't have to say anything. You look beautiful, that's the truth. I think the assistant over there wants to worship at your altar, actually." They shared a laugh when they spotted the young assistant indeed looking over at her, but after a beat she began to turn serious. "Sometimes I think about what I said to you…to everyone, and I just want to say— I want you to know how sorry I am. I shouldn't have gone there. I knew you had body image issues in the past and—"

"Hey," Mercedes cut in. "That's in the past, remember? It wasn't just you who said awful things."

"I know, but I feel like I crossed a line."

"We all did, and we all apologised and meant it, and now we've moved on. Right?"

Quinn nodded. "Okay."

If she didn't know any better, Mercedes would have assumed the wetness to Quinn's eyes was born from emotion. She'd noticed Quinn oscillating her neck several times during the past hour or so and the way her eyes weren't as bright as they should have been with the make-up. She'd been waiting for them to run. Mercedes glanced up to see the young assistant still hovering close-by.

"Excuse me," she called, watching his face light up as he practically ran over. "Could I get some tissues?"

"Sure, yeah. I'll be right back."

When they were alone again, Quinn thanked her.

"You're doing really great. Nobody is looking at you suspiciously or anything. Maybe acting is in your future?"

"Yeah, right." Quinn swiped her fingers over her cheek, stopping a tear in its track. "I've been here a few hours," she said humorously. "Tell me that later when I've probably puked all over this pretty dress."

"You're doing really great," Mercedes reiterated, reaching out to hold Quinn's hand. She knew effort when she saw it, and Quinn was doing her best to keep in good spirits. The assistant rushed back shortly after with a small box of tissues and Quinn made an attempt to salvage her eye make-up before it was too late. They sat there for a few minutes, idly talking about the rest of the trip while Mercedes cooled down.

At one point, Quinn looked off to the side where Rachel had begun filming a segment and a soft, thoughtful expression fragmented across her face where it remained until Mercedes spoke up.

"She looks good, doesn't she?"

Quinn averted her eyes. "Yeah," she agreed. "She does."

"I know how much you care about her," Mercedes said carefully. "And what you're doing, you know, cutting back, it's the best thing. It's the best thing for you, don't get me wrong; that's the ultimate goal and the most important thing for you, but it's making Rachel happy. It's all she's wanted since any of us got to town. You should have seen her that day when she found out that you hadn't stopped—"

"I never wanted to hurt her," Quinn interrupted anxiously, remembering the look on Rachel's face in that alleyway perfectly well. "And I know I've done it since then, and I'm sure I'll do it again in the future because it seems to be a pattern, but I don't get any joy from it. There's no sick pleasure to be gained for making her feel powerless. It makes me want to bash my head against a wall." Mercedes was covering her hand then and Quinn took a breath to lift some of the weight off her chest.

"I know, Quinn. The important thing is that you're trying now. I mean, this is the first step, right? You're on the right path. It doesn't matter if you make a few mistakes along the way as long as you don't stop trying because of them, okay? I think Rach will forgive you anything as long as you can keep that promise."

Quinn didn't say anything to that because the truth was she'd been trying harder than ever for the past few days. She was making an effort right there, that second.

X

They were preparing to do individual shots and then the camera was panning out to have the group in the same wide frame. Some of them were having their make-up fixed; Finn was begging one of the make-up artist not to put too much on because he didn't want to _look_ like he was wearing any, and Rachel was stood beside him, her mouth open as her lipstick was touched up.

Some of them were downing water or eating their way through the free food.

Quinn was trying to use the spare few minutes to get a handle on a splitting headache and had retreated to one of the lesser-populated areas of the warehouse to get some space from having to look like she was as healthy as her friends. She stared up at the largest collection of screens she'd ever seen, each of them playing news footage of the hurricane damage. Quinn hadn't seen any of it before. She'd had no interest to turn on the news because she didn't care to know about anybody else's troubles. She didn't care, period. Except it was one thing to say she didn't care and another entirely to mean it. The accounts and scenes were harrowing and her eyes refused to look away from them.

There was too much heartache on their faces, too many tears, and too much destruction. So much of the area had been levelled; stores, churches, homes, public buildings. People and pets were dead. Some people were still missing, which was always a kinder way of saying that someone's most adored and cherished person in the world was dead and their remains were undiscovered.

The most uncomfortable sensation had been gripping her throat for the past few minutes and she finally admitted, if only to herself, that the wetness to her face was not a side-effect of halving her dose, but because she couldn't stand to take in that much devastation without feeling like it happened to people she knew and cared about.

Quinn couldn't stand to feel pain like that at all. She wanted it to stop. She hadn't dealt with it very well for years now.

A smaller hand slipped into hers and she didn't need to look up to conclude that it was Rachel.

"Do you understand why I pushed this project on to you now?"

Quinn nodded.

"This album is going to help every one of these people," Rachel said. "And you're going to be a part of that. That's something all of us can take a little comfort in."

Quinn would have to try for the time being, at least until the upcoming scene had been shot. It was either dwell on the tragedy or the fact that she wanted to take a hit so badly that she'd started to push a fingernail into the side of her thumb on her free hand. The only good thing about how long it had been since this morning when she left a note on Rachel's face and went out to use was now she could feel the slight pain to it and imagine it as sharper.

She didn't want to get stuck on that, it wasn't healthy either. She decided to focus on Rachel instead. Finally, she found herself saying, "You look nice."

The back of Rachel's fingers helped to wipe Quinn's face dry and then she held her chin between her thumb and forefinger, determining that Quinn was good to go. It was a white lie; someone would have to do her make-up again, but only a quick touch-up. Rachel lifted a shoulder carelessly. "When don't I?"

The heaviness lifted almost instantly. "I don't know." Quinn's smile was small but present. "First thing in the morning?"

"And you think you're a sight for sore eyes when you've just woken up, do you?"

"No."

"Well, you are, and so am I, so let's go show America how lovely you are," Rachel said, leading them back towards the director who had just clapped his hands to gain her attention and was beckoning them back to their spots.

X

They got back to the hotel in the early hours of the morning, exhausted.

Finn, Puck, and Sam fell asleep against each other in the back of one of the cars but everyone else was so tired that they didn't even try to manipulate their bodies into humorous positions and take pictures once they gathered around the car to look. Oh well, there was always next time.

Their earlier plans (made when their adrenaline had been through the roof) of hitting up the clubs were squashed by the time midnight had rolled around. By one AM, Puck and Tina were screaming in each other's faces just to stay awake. It helped, but it was a temporary solution.

Everyone walked through the lobby quietly, half asleep except for Quinn.

Quinn's eyes were wide and overly alert. Her hands were shaking and she patted her front and back pockets when she couldn't feel her phone squeezed into any of them. "I need the keys. I forgot something." As soon as Mike threw them to her and she had them firmly in her hand, she turned abruptly, headed outside.

Several of her friends asked if she needed help or to wait for her but it was all declined.

As it turned out, her phone was not in the car.

She looked twice and slammed the door shut. It was only when she was travelling back towards the entrance that she spotted it on the ground by the moonlight reflecting off the screen.

Quinn was surprised to see Santana waiting inside for her.

"Had to get this," she explained, showing the phone as proof.

Santana didn't look interested in why she'd gone back outside to the sticky mugginess that Florida offered but she did look interested in finding out if Quinn was okay because her friend hadn't looked good for hours. Her skin was sallow and dark around the eyes. Santana could see that Quinn was sweating and her body had turned into a softly trembling mess; even if she was blind she would have felt it when she grabbed her hand to pull her away from the stairs and towards the elevator instead. There was no way in hell she was using what little energy she had left to climb stairs.

Santana didn't voice her concerns in so many words right away. She kept it light and waited until they were inside the elevator on the way to their floors until she said, "You all right?"

Quinn nodded affirmatively. "Sure."

"Been sick today?"

"No."

"That's good," Santana said, sort of surprised. "So, that was your first day on set. How was it? Great, right? All those people falling over themselves to get you whatever you want and make you look the best that you can look."

"Surreal," Quinn answered. "A lot to take in."

"Well, you did great. We're all super proud of you. Even Finn did good, and we all thought he'd be Mr. Clumsy or Mr. I-Forgot-The-Words. Not really in a bad way, just… you know Finn."

"He really cares about this."

"Yeah. You ready to do it all again tomorrow?"

"Can't wait."

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors pinged open. "I'm so tired I can't even tell if you're being sarcastic," she said, stepping forward and holding her hand over the door. "Glad you found your phone, though. Means I can call you and yell if you're the one who makes us late tomorrow."

Quinn's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I won't be late."

Santana gave her a slight nod. "Hey, uh, if you need anything, you know where we are, right? Whatever the time."

"I know. Thank you."

When Santana left, Quinn reclined against the hand rest and waited as the lift took her up another floor. Either it was moving at a snail's pace or she needed to lie down and sleep, but she wouldn't be doing the latter for a long time. The elevation sent her head dizzy and she tightened her fingers around the railing until it passed, which it did. A ding preceded the doors opening and Quinn looked at the black sign on the wall in front, indicating which room numbers were to the left of the elevator and which were to the right.

Quinn's room was to the right but she took a left.

She walked past three doors and stopped, peering to the side. What she saw made her shake her head.

Rachel's door, wide open, revealed her sitting Indian style on the bed as she removed her make-up.

"Your door is open," Quinn stated.

"I know." Rachel's face was contorted as she squinted one eye shut and ran a folded corner of a face wipe over some smudged eye-liner on the other, her mouth half open. "C'min," she invited.

"Do you also know how stupid that is?" Quinn said as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Anyone could have walked in."

"It's just you."

"Just a junkie. Right. No big deal."

That comment went in one ear and out of the other. Rachel was deft in that area. "What did you think of today?"

"Long."

She smiled and used a clean side to rub the wipe over the side of her face. "Besides that."

"Hot."

"Don't be a brat."

"I wasn't… It's not that I don't appreciate this or that I didn't have a good time, I did. It was amazing. But if I'm honest, I wasn't completely comfortable there," Quinn admitted. "I guess because of how little I did for all of this; it was hard to believe that all of those people were working so hard for me. Us."

"My first day on set —a music video, anyway, I was nervous the entire first day. I kept expecting to wake up, or at least see the real star walk on set and tell me to fetch her some ridiculous coffee order, or something. I wouldn't say you get used to the attention everybody gives you on set but it definitely gets easier to appreciate. Sometimes you work with the same director on a different video, or some of the staff is the same. It's nice to leave them a present; cupcakes or flowers, just a little something, but it always goes a long way. And tomorrow will be easier, less of a shock to the system. You'll be more relaxed."

"You're not…normal, Rachel Berry."

Well, no. That was established years ago.

"I'm aware," Rachel said lightly, patting the bed. "Come over here. Let me take your make-up off."

"Oh, no, I can—"

"I am not tired enough that I wouldn't resort to chasing you around this room. Come _on_ , we're pretty/unpretty right now. Indulge this one request?" Rachel managed to make Quinn think of a pleading puppy with those eyes and she was getting her own way soon after.

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed with one foot to the floor and Rachel had to crawl forward several inches to be able to reach her. She kept her eyes fixed on Rachel's face and thought how lovely it was to see her stripped down like that. After a long day of being dolled up, it looked like Rachel's skin could finally breathe again.

As soon as Rachel was armed with a fresh wipe and she caught Quinn looking at her, they both started to smile. "Close your eyes."

"I'm trusting you."

"I'm a very trustworthy person," she replied, starting with Quinn's eyes once they were closed. It was easier to see her shaking when she was close like that and Rachel's humour sobered drastically. She was gentle and thorough, taking her time to clear Quinn's skin of cosmetics. There wasn't much blush left to begin with anyway. Quinn had been pale for hours as she waited for others to finish their scenes, which was why Rachel left her door open; she couldn't go to bed without making sure she was okay and without stating her concern of leaving Quinn alone while also not pushing her too far.

"Thanks," Quinn murmured once Rachel was done.

"You look—"

"Like hell, I know."

"I was going to say tired. I brought some Nyquil with me. Do you want them?"

Quinn didn't want to take them because she had a theory that even a tranquilizer gun wouldn't work on her tonight but she couldn't say no when Rachel was so eager to help. When the pills had been retrieved from the bathroom and handed over with a small bottle of water, she swallowed them and was rewarded with a fleeting expression of relief on Rachel's face, like they would be a magic cure.

"Thank you for today, for the effort. I know it's taking a lot for you, but you're doing so amazing," Rachel said. "I just wish I could do something more to help you."

"You do enough."

Maybe Rachel did, but it didn't feel like it when she could see Quinn in obvious discomfort though she was trying her best to conceal it. It made Rachel feel powerless. "You can sleep in here with me if you want. I'd actually prefer it. For safety reasons."

"That's all right," Quinn declined delicately. "I kind of need the privacy. And it's not like you'll want me heating up the cool side of the bed when you wake up with a damp shirt in this heat."

"It's a huge bed, as proven earlier. It'll be like we're sleeping alone, anyway. We probably wouldn't even see each other till morning."

"Think we might. You, um, move around a lot and…flail sometimes."

"No, I don't."

"You do when you're asleep. I had to dodge more than one attack from those little green fists earlier."

Rachel's face scrunched up, embarrassed. "Sorry. Wait, did you not sleep?"

"Guess I'm one of the kids, too," Quinn surmised jokingly. "But I'm sure, with the pills, I'll be out like a light. I should probably go before I pass out." She moved off the bed and made her way through the room until she reached the door, Rachel close behind. "Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. I'll see you later."

"Are you really going to leave without giving me a hug?"

"Do you want one?"

"Obviously."

"You did save me a job with the make-up…" Quinn trailed off, somewhat hesitantly putting her arms around Rachel who always threw herself into an embrace no matter who it was with.

"I'm keeping the sound on my phone tonight. Please call me or just come over if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, even just someone to talk to if you can't sleep."

"I will."

Quinn knew a pair of brown eyes were on her all the way to her own room and refrained from rushing. The elevator felt like a magnet when she passed by it and it was all she could do to keep herself from going into it. It called to her like an emergency door in a fire. When she made it to her room she closed the door and her hand shook as she locked the door chain and pushed the heavy desk chair in front of it, as well as the plush chair by the side of the bed. To be certain, she also stood her half-full case in front of the chairs as well, barricading herself in.

She hadn't been sick all day.

It usually made her feel better, if only for a few minutes. It was those few minutes of relief that she clung t

o each day as one of the ways to make it through them. She brushed her teeth longer than necessary, hoping the way her stomach revolted against her during the violent gags would amount to something but they didn't.

She told herself over and over again that she didn't need to go back out that door. It would hurt her friends and it would kill Rachel. She couldn't do that to them. She wouldn't.

Quinn stripped off her clothes and didn't bother to replace them with anything else as she turned the lights off and climbed into bed. She could wait it out. The first day was already over. They would be back in New York before she knew it.

The sleeping pills didn't work. They didn't work last night either but Quinn wanted Rachel to think she could help, so she let her.

Quinn tried to sleep, anyway. She tried to shut off and stop her head from racing with disjointed thoughts but it refused to give her a break.

An hour passed where she'd tried so desperately to visualise the room with no door. The attempt was futile at best because her mind wouldn't slow or stop or do anything but race in a way that eventually sent the rest of her body into overdrive as well. Her heart pumped furiously inside her chest and her body was so hot that she wanted to sleep in a bath of cold water. Quinn didn't cry until there was a blinding pain in her skull and she had her hands either side of it, willing it to stop.

Another hour and her body had been taut for the majority of it.

Pain had settled into her bones and joints and she gasped and whimpered through them as they seemed to ache that much deeper, radiating a flaring agony throughout her body until the gasps and whimpers were choking wetly at the back of her throat.

It was all she could do to detangle her legs from the covers and rush to the bathroom, dropping to her knees in time to violently empty the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl.

She came to on the marbled floor, alone and disoriented before the memories filtered in.

Quinn pulled herself up, if only to flush the toilet and scan the room to find where she'd put the mouthwash to rid her mouth and throat of the acrid taste. She moved slowly when she walked across the spacious bathroom and rinsed her mouth, carefully testing her ability to have any kind of liquid touch the back of her throat without vomiting again.

She didn't want to catch sight of herself in the mirror but a flash of pink argyle demanded her attention and she flinched, startled as Lucy walked past the door.

Quinn exhaled harshly and made her way back to the bed like it was the only object in the room. She curled up in bed and pulled the covers over her face to block out any ridiculous figment of her imagination.

But a comforter was hardly the strongest weapon and Lucy paced the room, unafraid to voice each foul insecurity that Quinn had somehow boxed up and stored in the back of her mind.

Lucy's voice, higher than Quinn's, faded into the background after a while as Quinn's body began to riot again.

Quinn thanked God for the small mercy of silence.

That was until she heard whimpers unlike her own; innocent and afraid, coming from over by the window.

Lucy had gone, but Quinn was not alone.

The whimpers grew steadily, morphing into agonised wails that sliced through Quinn like blades. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the palms of her hands against her ears hard enough for the cartilage to protest at the pressure.

"Mom," Beth sobbed, "stop it."

It sounded like Beth was older, around seven, but Quinn didn't open her eyes to check.

Quinn shook her head and a panicked groan slipped past her lips. Beth wasn't there, it was her imagination. There was no pain but hers. It didn't exist.

"MOM!"

For a while, Beth continued to scream loud enough for the hair to rise on the back of her mother's neck.

When the screams quieted to give way to the choked sounds of vomit, Quinn felt the coldness she'd been so desperate for earlier and held her breath, battling an almost overpowering urge to help her. Beth gasped for air when she was finished.

"Mommy, please, I'm sorry! I love you!"

The desperate plea destroyed Quinn starting from the deepest part of her chest, spreading like venom until it had poisoned every inch of her. Her eyes fluttered open to see Beth curled up on the floor, her body convulsing, rioting the way Quinn felt hers doing; only more severe. Horrors were always worse on the innocent.

This was Quinn's worst nightmare.

Something so dark and foul could only be a figment of imagination, couldn't it? But it was the horror in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind that had taken shape. Quinn did what would most people would do when their monsters were coming to life right in front of their eyes: she dressed and then escaped the only way she knew how.


	15. The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me

A knock to the door was what woke Rachel the next morning.

Her hand fumbled on the nightstand to switch off her alarm but when the persistent sound did not stop, she squinted one eye open and peered through the mass of hair covering her eyes to confirm that it was earlier than her alarm was set for. She'd fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow last night but her head protested like she'd been drinking heavily when she swung her legs over the side of the bed and righted herself, dragging her feet all the way over to the source of the noise.

"Who is it?"

"Liza, now open up."

Rachel tamed the hair on top of her head and unlocked the door to reveal Kurt on the other side of it, holding two cups of coffee. She took one with a relieved groan and headed back inside the room with him following behind. "I love you."

"I think you love Quinn," he said. To Rachel's silence, he added, "She got everyone a coffee this morning. Delivered it personally, and everything."

It felt better in the room once the curtains and windows were open. It looked like another scorcher outside and she was once again grateful for the air conditioning of the room that afforded her some relief. She sat down on the other side of the couch that Kurt had sat on. "So why am I stuck with you?"

"Well, aren't you a delight this morning."

Rachel smiled ruefully. "I didn't mean it like that," she promised.

"And because some of us were up and showered by the time Miss Fabray knocked on our door. I mentioned that I was on my way up here and she asked if I would bring yours."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Ask her later. How's the brightest star doing?"

"Like I drank more than a couple of Roadkill Rachel's before turning in." She took the lid off her coffee and blew on the surface, taking a sizeable mouthful once she'd decided that it wasn't going to scald her throat. "Ask me again once the effects of this, psychological or not, have kicked in. How did Quinn look?"

"Like she was going for a run."

"I didn't mean her clothes. Besides, Quinn doesn't run."

"She was dressed for the gym," Kurt shrugged, giving Rachel a suspicious side-eye after a second. "She looked awful. Exhausted, too. By your own admittance, you look like something the cat dragged in."

"I didn't say that."

"Speaking of _cat_ , did Quinn's keep you up all—" Rachel's scoff was enough to cut him off

"Can you not be so crude first thing in the morning? In case you forgot, we were all up late."

"Yes, but did she stay with you?"

"No," Rachel denied. "Do you have a point?"

"By the defensive tone to your voice, I think I can safely assume the point has been made."

"Sometimes I wonder why we're even friends."

Kurt stared at her and debated if now was the right time. Blaine and Mercedes told him to keep his mouth shut, but skipping over this subject felt like a wrong move to make. "I didn't mean to upset you, sweetie."

"Well, you did," Rachel snapped dramatically, her lips barely touching the surface of her coffee again before she pulled them away. "And can you not talk about her like that? It makes me want to throw a hairbrush at you."

"Rachel, you've spent more time with Quinn than me the past couple of months." She fell against him, groaning.

"Don't be the jealous friend, Kurt," she whined. "She needs me."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I don't think it's ever been a secret to how much Miss Quinn Fabray needs you, whoever she chose to be at the time and however passionately she denied it to herself. I'm just wondering if she's still denying it now. What do you think? Should we ask her?"

"I think you need to shut up."

"Do you still have that crush on her from school?"

"Are we twelve? A crush sounds so juvenile."

"You're not answering me."

"Well, you're ignoring me too!"

"Rachel…" Kurt trailed off patiently as she pulled away from him. By her expression, it was clear to him that they wouldn't be getting much further in the conversation. She was hands down the most obstinate person he had ever met in his life, though usually it was an admired trait.

"She needs me," Rachel reiterated with a little more bite to it.

"And how much do you need her these days?" The slow way in which Rachel's face fell and the hardness to her eyes made him reach out. "Sweetie, I love you. I want you to be happy. But I gotta tell you, I don't think Quinn's in the right place for anything right now. Soon, maybe, if she keeps this up, but not now."

Rachel nodded gently, looking down to the carpet. "I love you, too. Now get out."

X

The last day of shooting turned out to be much the same as the first, except this time they'd switched locations and were outside in direct line of fire, so to speak. Everyone was uncomfortably hot, though none of them complained (much). Puck took his shirt off any chance he got and Sam followed, eager to catch the rays. Quinn was hot, too, and pale, perhaps a little too fair for her liking, but she didn't imagine her mother would be proud of her if she whipped off her top in broad daylight. Besides, applying sunscreen had been the last thing on her mind before leaving the hotel.

Like yesterday, the majority of time was spent waiting around for the set to be fixed, lighting and screens adjusted, measuring distance between the people in the frame and giving directions on how to move or act when the camera was rolling. Sometimes they had to go over a scene a couple of times but their director was a friendly, easy-going guy who none of them were afraid to ask questions in order to get the scenes just right.

Quinn could picture those images from the screens yesterday to invoke enough emotion to get through a take convincingly, but her head wasn't totally there. It was split in multiple directions, like the rest of her. It wasn't fun to have her friends fussing over her when she felt like she'd actively betrayed them a few short hours ago. It was difficult to look them in the eyes.

She couldn't even look at Rachel.

It was a blessing they weren't alone. She made sure to bounce from practically each member of their group to avoid her.

The only time it was impossible to was when they were shooting a scene; together or with Rachel observing her from beside the cameras. It made her nervous to have Rachel watching her like that. She was nervous any time a camera was shoved in front of her face and her first instinct was to hide away from it but this wasn't about her and she couldn't let it be. She'd failed with one goal; she didn't want to screw up for any of those poor people who'd fallen victim to Mother Nature. So Quinn prepared for her scenes by closing her eyes and breathing it out, putting all of her issues and baggage to one side in order to be a different person and get through the scene.

Rachel was still there when she opened her eyes, of course, and afterward when it was over. Rachel was always there.

But Quinn didn't look at her. There was too much she hid in her eyes and she was afraid it would all come rushing out.

Lunch was one thing she had anticipated all morning. She was going to use the time to nap in the trailer she was sharing with Tina. She didn't sleep after eventually finding Jackson's old friend and using next to a non-descript restaurant, crouched down from view. Quinn didn't even sleep when she arrived back at the hotel when the sun was coming up, terrified of bumping into any of her friends or, God forbid, Rachel on her way back to her room.

Quinn had taken a shower and applied some antiseptic cream to her foot in a place the strap to her sandals would hide anyway, grateful not to have to apply any make-up to hide what she'd done a few hours earlier. The dark circles under her eyes looked the same as they had yesterday. All she had to do was add in the shakes and act uncomfortable and nobody but her would be any the wiser.

Not if she didn't look them in the eyes for long, or at all.

The guilt wasn't something she could hide, no matter how much she wanted to. So, she'd made her way down to the breakfast room and made several journey's to and from there in order to bring all of her friends a coffee after their late night.

Everyone deflated with relief as soon as one of the staff called for a lunch break.

When Quinn was on her way to her trailer, though, she was stopped by Rachel's voice.

"Hey, guys? As lovely as the catering van here is, do you want to go out for lunch?"

"Go out?" Finn didn't understand. "But there's food here, and it's free. Why would you pay for something you can get for nothing?"

Nobody else was concerned with the bill and most of them were agreeing quickly. Rachel turned to Quinn hopefully.

Quinn made sure to look at anybody else. "I was…I was going to sleep, but if you want to go out… I guess we could." Rachel's hand was running up and down her arm soothingly and Quinn wished more than anything that she would stop.

"If you're not feeling well, we don't all have to go. I can stay here with you. It was insensitive of me to ask—"

"That's all right. I'll, um, I'll get my purse."

Instead of driving, they decided to walk through the town they were located in. The tourist shops were pulling the girls' attention like magnets and they went inside a handful of them, coming out with bags full of souvenirs that had caught their eyes. Rachel saw a wooden sign pointing the way towards the beach that she wanted to buy but there was nowhere to hang it in her apartment so she restrained herself. She was the only one of the girls who didn't buy anything. Quinn felt obliged to buy a hat when Brittany turned to her with a disbelieving tone asking if she was really not going to buy anything. The hat was the closest thing to Quinn's hand. It was a revolting shade of bubblegum pink with an embroidered flower on the side that she wouldn't be caught dead wearing. On her way to the till, she also saw a tacky fridge magnet that she knew Jackson would get a kick out of, so she brought that as well.

They were back outside in the stifling heat and Finn looked like he was beginning to cook out there. He glanced to Rachel's hands somewhat disdainfully. "You dragged everyone in there for fifteen minutes and you didn't even buy anything?"

"I didn't ask you to stand out here baking."

Mercedes cupped the back of Finn's neck and she watched his lips part at the temperature. "Part of the reason we were so long was because it was actually _cold_ in there. Next time, instead of complaining, come with us."

"Yeah, yeah, I will," he said quickly, holding her hands in place when she started to pull away. "Can I borrow your hands for, like, five more seconds?"

"Why didn't you get anything?" Mike asked Rachel.

"I really want some sand from one of the beaches but it's all in touristy bottles and the print always wears off and makes it look tacky. I refuse to have tack in my apartment." She brightened up. "But Quinn got the cutest new hat, and Brittany and Mercedes got a—"

"Yeah, that's great," Puck interrupted dryly. "Can we get lunch now, _Mom_? Some of us are starving."

"Of course," Rachel said contritely. "I'm sorry, let's go."

The shops were off-limits now. Each time they passed what looked like a good one, Mercedes and Rachel looked at each other with a small nod, making mental notes to stop in on the way back.

Everyone had crowded around menu boards outside of restaurants but there was always something wrong and they had to move on to the next. Quinn didn't have an opinion on where they ate as long as they could get out of the sun soon. She didn't like to be in public with her arms on show so she changed back into what she was wearing before the costume change; the thinnest long-sleeved top she owned, still melting. Finn's body was almost like walking beside a wall so she made certain to walk with him in order to block some of the sun's heat.

She had to listen to his gripes but she didn't mind.

Finn turned his back on her and pulled the collar of his t-shirt down, bending at the knees to lower himself to her level. "Am I peeling? I think I got sunburn from the pool yesterday and it feels like my skin's sliding right off."

Quinn touched the back of his arm. "Oh, my God."

His alarm halted when he spun around and saw the tiny smile on her face. He covered the side of her face with his hand and gently shoved it away. "That was mean."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"My skin's really delicate. I have to take good care of it."

Quinn thought the guilt was going to eat her from the inside out. A five-second break of the clouds and it was back with a vengeance. She looked across the street to see if there were any restaurants that side that they could take a look at and spotted a small café that didn't look awful. She opened her mouth to tell her friends when a glare of light caught her eyes. A man was a little ways up the street pointing a camera in their direction. She was in a bad mood, she felt like _shit_. She did not need this.

A sharp slap rang out and she turned to see Finn's back arched, rigid as Puck darted to the front of the group.

Rachel had the same idea as Quinn and looked on the other side of the street for a place to eat. There was a small café that looked promising and she and Mike crossed the road to take a look at the menu. Quinn remained by Finn's side but she didn't notice the threats he was throwing out to Puck for revenge, she only noticed Rachel's easy laughter from something Mike had just said and the way the paparazzo was getting closer to her.

She stepped out into the quiet road and crossed it, standing in front of Rachel so that she had her back to the man about to encroach on their day. Her face was set in annoyance. "There's an idiot behind me," Quinn warned, looking at Mike.

Rachel glanced up to see that Quinn hadn't jumped to a conclusion. "Just one. Remember what I said, okay? If you can't be nice, act like he's not there or risk kicking the nest. You don't want an infestation with these guys, trust me." Quinn nodded and Rachel reached up to grab her chin, shaking it affectionately. "Try to smile at some point."

"He's not exactly making me want to."

Her hand drifted down to Quinn's side. "Do I have to tickle one out of you?"

Quinn shrank away from Rachel's hand the same time she held it with her own, keeping it away from her overly ticklish sides. She smiled against her will, happily mirrored a second later by Rachel, both unaware that their interaction was like a flipbook on someone's camera.

"Wear your hat," Rachel suggested. "You'll look cute."

"Maybe later." Later, when hell froze over.

The photographer was standing beside Quinn now. "What's up, guys?" he said easily, lifting the camera and pointing it towards Rachel who had once again focused her attention on the menu.

"Hi," she replied kindly.

"How y'all doing? Florida treating you well?"

"We're good, we're having an amazing time."

"Who've we got here?" the photographer asked, stepping back to snap away at Mike.

Rachel threw her arm around her friend. "This is Michael Chang. We've been friends since we were in diapers. In addition to being gorgeous and a lovely singer, his body's also made of rubber. The guys and gals so inclined will be going crazy for him, so make sure you get some flattering shots."

"It's Mike," he corrected. "And not so much diapers as boxers." It was waved off.

"We were practically foetuses."

Mike looked at her like she was crazy, but it was more fond than anything.

The photographer wasn't showing any outward signs to worry about but Quinn was ready to strike at any moment. She couldn't relax around him and now was not the time to be introduced. She looked at Rachel before one had been made.

"This is Quinn, and, um, she's not feeling well." Rachel saw her friends across the street. All of the attention whores were over there anyway. "If you hurry, you'll catch Mercedes Jones and Snix in the same company without the world imploding. Guys!" she called. "Come say hello."

While her friends greeted the seeming harmless intruder, Quinn wanted so badly to click her fingers and be back in New York surrounded by people who didn't feel the need to put a camera in her face every day that she felt terrible. More than that, she wished a simple snap of her fingers would be the solution to so many other things: the need, the overwhelming guilt that threatened to cripple her ability to act like she hadn't betrayed those closest to her, and the knowledge that no matter what she did, she would always be stuck in the hole she'd dug all by herself.

She couldn't even follow through with a promise to make an effort in front of the press.

Quinn watched Rachel's amusement at Brittany's natural bubbly personality play out on her face and steeled her own jaw, sucking in a breath and exhaling harshly. There was going to be an almighty showdown soon enough; surely it would be better to make an attempt at an effort. Not that it had done a lot of good so far, but in one way it was something Quinn clung to. She _had_ tried yesterday. She'd been making it through the physical symptoms of withdrawal; it was the tricks her mind played on her that she absolutely could not take this time.

She touched a hand to her hair self-consciously, making sure it was perfect. "So, are you local?"

The paparazzo gave her his full attention, looking at her appreciatively. "Pretty much," he answered. "Why? You want a private tour? I'm sure your friends wouldn't mind you having fun for a few hours."

"Think I'll pass," Quinn declined politely.

"You sure? Town's got history and some pretty romantic spots. You'll have a great time, I promise. There's a great beach not too far from here—"

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of history."

He smiled. "Same shit, different year kind of girl?"

"Something like that," Quinn said. "No, I was just wondering if you could help us out. Most of us are starving, is there anywhere you could recommend that isn't going to be packed right now? Migraine," she explained.

"Do you guys have anywhere specific in mind?"

Rachel had been looking between the two of them. "If we knew of a place, we wouldn't be asking," she said bluntly. It was mistaken for a good-natured ribbing and she plastered a camera-ready smile to her face. "Preferably local. Time is of the essence. We're on the clock, we just skipped out to get grab something to eat, so you understand that as much as we would love to stay and chat, our butts will be handed to us if we're not back in time. All of us," she added, pointedly.

They were quickly given directions to a family-owned restaurant four blocks from there, ran by a welcoming Mexican couple who had no idea who any of them were. It was a blessing for Quinn, though the multiple questions she received from them both asking if her food was okay was annoying more than anything. Her appetite had been non-existent all day and so it was a challenge to force something down. She sat beside Brittany and ate as much as she could, trying to ignore Rachel's gaze she could feel on her from down the table. Quinn sensed those eyes keenly for most of the meal and felt that much smaller when she made her hand tremble for production purposes each time she lifted the water glass to her lips.

Of course the show had to go on for the time being. The knife was undoubtedly being twisted that little bit deeper but it was better than Rachel finding out in the company of two little Mexicans, wasn't it?

In some way, Quinn thought so. She had to hide it for now. Or maybe she needed to pull her to one side and come clean right there and then before the web got any bigger. She didn't know. She didn't know how she was supposed to choose which way to break Rachel's heart.

Lunch with everyone was never a quiet affair and she was grateful for her friends' distraction. Fewer eyes scrutinising her could only be a good thing but Rachel still read her like a book and she knew the signs by now. Quinn was terrified that each time Rachel looked over there she would figure everything out like a pivotal scene in a movie.

Unsurprising by Quinn's standards, the photographer waited outside for them. She had to turn away to keep the expression of sheer displeasure from the lens but it was frozen to her face for a good few seconds.

"Don't you have other people to stalk?" Santana voiced shared thoughts.

He smiled, snapping away as everyone exited the building. "Needed to know how everything turned out," he said. "Uh, Quinn, is it? How's your migraine?"

"Raging," Quinn replied flatly without affording him a glance.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Leave."

He laughed. "Oh, she's crabby now. I see how it is."

Quinn decided to ignore him, holding on to Tina's arm instead as they headed back. She was getting a significant amount of experience in ignoring things lately, or at least attempting to. Behind them, Rachel was using every ounce of willpower to keep her face neutral despite the fact that she had yet to make up with Kurt and not being able to figure out if Quinn was avoiding her.

At first Rachel thought it was her imagination.

It wasn't as if Quinn _had_ to ride in the same car as her to the shoot. That was fine. Quinn was indisputably uncomfortable in front of a camera, though Rachel knew that because of body language rather than from any glaring mistakes, so that would have attributed to why Quinn didn't look at her for support during filming earlier. Sometimes Rachel had to get to a certain place in her own head before a big performance and needed to be solitary in order to make it happen, too. The make-up on both of their faces was enough to make it appear that they were each healthy, glowing women but Rachel had seen the tremble to Quinn's hand that given her away.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe Quinn had a rough night and was resentful to her for insisting that Florida had to be a clean trip. Rachel hadn't been able to ask how rough last night had been or tell her how worried she was, or even that she was so incredibly impressed by how well Quinn was handling being so ill while working. Rachel had to fight harder to keep a straight face as she thought about those things, and the possibility of Quinn being mad at her for pushing her to do this. But if that was the case, then why would Quinn have even bothered going to her room last night? Something wasn't adding up.

The photographer still followed.

"What'd you think of the food there, Miss Berry?" he asked. "Turn to your right just a little for me?"

Rachel momentarily obliged to his request. "Delicious."

"Think you guys will be coming back here before you leave?"

"We're very busy," she said, staring at the back of Quinn's head.

"What else is on the cards?"

Kurt chuckled. "Smooth."

"Just making conversation, dude."

Kurt very much doubted that. "Is anyone else finding that hard to believe?" There was a small chorus of agreement as the paparazzo checked for cars parked behind him and jogged backwards in an attempt to get a better shot of Rachel in the sun.

Quinn turned her head and spied the action. She twisted back around biting her tongue.

"Do you want to get out of the shade a little, Rachel? Just for a second, I promise."

The heat was relentless. The last thing she wanted to do was walk in direct sunlight but she did as he asked, letting him take the photos he wanted.

Mike pulled her back after a moment and there was a whined protest almost instantly.

"I think I got too much of a glare. One more for me, Rachel?"

Rachel had a rare expression of embarrassment on her face. She tried to smile it away but it was plastic. "It's so hot!" she exclaimed. "You know, I don't want to be cremated. I have too much work to get done. Think of the fans or all those people I'm trying to help."

"Come on, don't make me beg."

Mercedes lifted an eyebrow and offered the man a pitying laugh. "Okay, I think it's time for you to go. We've been nice."

"One more for the road, Rachel? With whip cream and cherries on top. All the good stuff."

Up at the front of the group, Tina winced. "Quinn, you're kinda hurting me."

Quinn abruptly released Tina's arm. "Sorry," she said sincerely.

Finn looked to Brittany nervously. "Maybe we should call some cabs, or somethin'."

"Or middle-aged basement dude still living with his mom can get lost before we have a problem," Puck suggested.

The photographer had good shots from each of them but Rachel was so nice, so different to how he'd heard and read about her and couldn't help but use it to his gain. He waited for her to catch up a few steps and put his hand on her arm to guide her back into what would be perfect lighting if he got the angle right.

Of course, being surrounded by seven capable men who also happened to be Rachel's friends, he didn't get any further than that before she was pulled out of his reach and surrounded protectively. He raised his hands in submission.

"Okay, I'm sorry, that was out of line."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the camera that had been securely held in his right hand was ripped away and flung to the ground.

Mike sprang into action and all but threw himself to the sidewalk to catch it but he was a second too late and there was a loud clatter and small shatter of glass prior to an irate cry of disbelief from the owner as he spun around.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled once he saw who it was.

Quinn didn't seem affected by it. Her eyes were hard as she looked up at him. "Sorry, that was out of line."

Santana laughed breathlessly, stunned. "Whoa. Butter fingers or what, Mr. Nikon?"

"Unfortunate, really," Artie added.

The photojournalist retrieved his camera from the ground and, if possible, went a darker shade of red. His head shook. The blonde standing in front of him was a complete opposite of the friendly woman he'd spoken to earlier. "I guess you want to stand out from your friends, huh, Quinn? Congratulations. I wonder how your first story's going to read."

"Screw you," she spat out. "The story is the press are all vultures. Hardly a headliner."

"Clumsy vulture," Brittany nodded. "I mean, you stumbled over a water bottle and went flying. Even Super Mike couldn't catch you in time."

"The camera might be ruined but the pictures aren't."

"Oh, I know," Quinn assured. "All those photos where I'm indulging you with a smile will be out there for the whole country to see. How will my reputation survive?"

He opened his mouth and sucked in a quick breath, about to launch into half a dozen empty threats when Rachel stepped forward and cut him off.

"I can assure you, it's in your best interest to walk away."

"But—"

"Now."

"She—"

"Is protective," Rachel completed with a shrug. "And you're a jerk."

As Quinn was in the middle of some sort of staring contest with him, Rachel joined their hands and began leading her group back to work. They would have to walk quickly and forgo any eye-catching storefronts this time in order to make it back on time but that was all right with her. Suddenly she felt much better about anything that had been weighing on her mind.

"Guys?" she began happily, squeezing Quinn's hand. "I love you."

X

Half of the video being animated meant that their second day on set wasn't going to be as arduous as the first. After lunch they had four separate scenes to film and then they were wrapped in terms of live action.

It was bittersweet.

The past two days had been an incredible experience for everyone and while the schedule and heat had been rough on them all, they were still going to miss putting together a performance of such a large scale.

Even Quinn, who admittedly had much larger things to worry about, would miss this. It felt amazing to be doing something that mattered, to go to work with the knowledge that she would be helping people instead of serving them.

That was worrying.

Using after a day without meant that she shouldn't have felt much of anything, but there was a weight to her chest and an uncomfortable churn of her stomach every time she thought of the experience being over soon. Those sensations magnified exponentially whenever she thought of Rachel or her friends as she sat in her and Tina's trailer alone with the blinds down, debating her next move.

There was a simple solution to take away those feelings.

She sat on the couch with her feet propped up on the table in front, staring over at a cabinet across the room. Her bag was in there, hidden away.

In this instance, out of sight, out of mind did not apply.

She pushed her teeth down into the flesh of her bottom lip.

The next few hours were going to be tough enough as it was, could she get through them with the oppressive weight of guilt and shame on her shoulders, as well as the symptoms of halving her dose? In a lot of ways she'd been an actress for years. She usually adapted well to whichever circumstances were presented to her, yet after what happened with the photographer Quinn's faith in that ability had dwindled to nothing.

Minutes passed in silence and she got up from the couch, a decision made.

Quinn crouched in front of the cabinet and she pulled her bag out to rest on her knee, rifling through the receipts in the zipped inside pocket until she reached the bottom where her fingers made contact with hard plastic.

She headed towards the bathroom with the capped syringe in hand, oblivious to the head of blond hair at the door window and how the same door was being pulled open a second later.

"Hey Quinn, is it okay if—" Sam trailed off abruptly at the startled reaction from his friend and the way her arm shot behind her. He started to smile, confused. "Uh, you okay?"

"Don't you knock?" she asked with a mordacious tone.

An apology died on Sam's tongue when he noticed the slight movement to the arm behind her back. When his eyes met hers again, Quinn looked at him with a greater amount of cynicism. It was uncalled for and it took several seconds for the confusion to clear. His face began to fall.

"Something you want to tell me?"

"Yeah, learn how to knock."

"What have you got?" Sam asked, walking towards her.

"A headache. Can you go?"

Sam reached around her and grabbed her hand, pulling it into view with only a brief struggle. It was empty. The confusion returned in full force.

That was until he saw the protruding material of her sleeve.

The grip on her wrist turned firm and then Sam's fingers were pushing underneath her sleeve, bunching up the material the higher he went. Quinn's free hand latched on to his, attempting to pull it away but she was no match for him and his hand only retreated from her skin when he had what he'd been searching for.

Despite knowing in his gut what she'd been hiding, Sam stared at the syringe held between his fingers in horror. Quinn clenched her jaw, her chest moving out more rapidly.

"What is this?" he asked. Quinn merely glared at him "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm about to get a lecture by the sound of it."

"You stopped," Sam stated. "Right? I mean, yesterday, last night, you were...not good."

Quinn tried to take the syringe back but it was held it out of arm's reach of her. "This is none of your business."

"Rachel thinks you've stopped." Aside from a pinch of her eyebrows, Sam saw no outward reaction. It exacerbated his fury with her for being so selfish.

Quinn shrugged. "Well, I'm not going to tell her."

"I am."

"No, you won't," she said confidently.

"You're lying to her. Damn it, Quinn! You were incredible yesterday. If you were having thoughts like this, why didn't you tell us?"

"She knows what I am. So do all of you. It's not my fault if you choose to forget."

He thought that was the weakest response she could have possibly uttered. "You know what? Play another card. You're an adult and these are your actions, take some responsibility for them."

"Rachel doesn't need to know," Quinn argued. "Not yet."

"You know that's not true."

Fear flickered across Quinn's eyes but her countenance remained steadfast. "Rachel is _my_ —"

"Your, what? Friend? Careful, you don't want to split my sides open. If you care about her at all, you'll tell her. And if you don't, I will."

"You'd be hurting her," Quinn said. "You like Rachel, right? Mercedes is one of her best friends. You'd be hurting both of them if you opened your big mouth and said anything about this. You don't want that, do you?"

"You're right, I do like Rachel. I don't want to see her get hurt, which is why I'm not going to let you keep doing it."

Finally, Quinn's face began to fall. "Sam, you don't understand…" she began hesitantly.

"Look, I'd never pretend to understand the hell you're going through, but this is about right from wrong, so, actually, I do understand."

"You _don't_."

Sam eyed her with a sickened expression on his face. He didn't think she would ever deceive them like that, and it hurt. It hurt to know that she didn't trust any of them enough to go to them in her time of need. It hurt that he hadn't noticed until he caught her red-handed. "You know, I'm not really in the mood to stand around listening to a bunch of excuses, so I'm gonna go." He held the syringe up, twiddling it between his fingers. "Gonna keep this, though. I don't know how much good it'll do in the long run but I'm not leaving you with it. You can try again. You know, getting clean. We'll approach it all differently… get you more help."

This time Quinn was not distracted and she spotted a familiar-styled head of brown hair at her trailer door. She threw herself at Sam, trapping his arm between their bodies with a tight embrace as Rachel knocked briefly ahead of walking in.

"Please don't do this now," Quinn begged him, barely loud enough for him to hear. "Don't let her see it. I'll—I'll do it, I just need some time."

"Quinn, is it okay if I hide some flowers and candy in here?" Rachel asked, surprise lighting her face the moment she saw her friends' shared embrace. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt a hug-fest."

Quinn pulled back and Sam pushed the syringe into his pocket before turning to Rachel, feeling nauseated with the contentedness to her face and the knowledge that it wouldn't be lasting for much longer. "It was more of an impromptu thing," he said. "And, uh, I already asked about the flowers and candy. It's no problem, right, Quinn? Tina already agreed."

"Sure."

Rachel smiled. "Thank you. I know it's a little bit of an imposition, especially with your allergies sometimes, but my trailer is like a cross between a garden centre and Willy Wonka's factory as it is. Tina said she can give you something if, you know, the pollen band together and strike."

"It's fine," Quinn said. "I'm happy to help."

Sam's eyes zeroed in on her and it was almost as if the sheet had been lifted when faced with Rachel. From there he could easily see Quinn's anxiousness and the bitter, compacting grip of shame that had fastened on to her. It looked like he wasn't the only one who wanted to throw up.

He moved towards Rachel and leaned down, wrapping his arms around her. "You know I'm stealing some candy, right?"

Rachel laughed against his shoulder. "If you steal candy from those sweet people who have been taking care of us here, I will inflict unimaginable pain on you, Mr. Evans."

Sam managed a genuine smile. He looked down to her. "Just one bar?"

"Your actions are your own to choose but please keep in mind that you'll be punished, and not in a good way."

"How are you going to do that?"

Rachel looked over to the trailer's other occupant. "Do you want to enlighten him or should I?"

"She'll Hulk out," Quinn said quietly, and Rachel looked self-satisfied as she jabbed a finger in Sam's chest.

"Consider yourself warned."

"Okay, I promise I won't have any," he said, wavering for only a couple of seconds before deciding that he didn't care how cruel he was going to be. "It's cool of you to do this, Quinn."

"Yeah, really, thank you," Rachel added.

"Doesn't Quinn get a hug?" Sam asked. "You are turning her trailer into a botanic garden." He watched Rachel fluster with a rare expression of shyness.

"Yeah," Rachel replied softly, knitting her brows together and shaking her head at herself. "Of course."

They were getting better at that —touching each other. It was usually little touches like a comforting hand to the small of the back, an affectionate hair rub, the brushing of arms and legs when they were watching TV. When Rachel knew Quinn needed some reassurance but was too proud to ask for it, she'd link their arms together. When Quinn knew the same for Rachel, she would hold her hand. Certainly on Quinn's part, an embrace was never initiated unless by request but Rachel was a tactile person by nature and though she never wanted to make Quinn uncomfortable, she had also stopped finding personal excuses to do so and simply did it because she loved to. When fear bit at each corner of her mind, touching Quinn, even a graze of the hand or a brush of her arm was the only thing that soothed it.

The times she needed it to die were times she couldn't bite her tongue and she would request a hug. There was also the time she had been unable to think about anything other than _Quinn_ and dropped to her knees, instinctively reaching out as Quinn sobbed.

Rachel knew from one exceptionally late summer night in high school that if their bodies were lined up just right and she held her long enough, Quinn's body would soften and sink right into hers. Of course, these days she had no idea. Quinn hadn't faced her when Rachel held her in bed that one time recently, didn't turn to rest her head on Rachel's shoulder or chest and allow herself to be vulnerable that way.

The devil on Rachel's shoulder was, interestingly enough, always a teenaged version of herself. She would rant and spout advice that was sometimes taken with disastrous results but more often than not turned out well. Not necessarily how Rachel imagined or hoped, but well. On those occasions where she was blue for one reason or another, Devil Rachel would cleverly lure her into a trap to snap her out of it and be the woman she swore she would be when she left for New York all those years ago.

Now, as she approached Quinn, the devil on Rachel's shoulder was mute through a sudden attack of shyness. Her face felt warm and her voice came out smaller than she wanted it to when she said, "C'mere."

Quinn's throat bobbed with a swallow and she tried to return Rachel's smile even though it didn't feel right on her face, like it might break, leaning down to meet her comfortably. Rachel's arms slipped over and around her shoulders smoothly, feeling perfectly content where she stood. Only a moment later she could feel the unrelenting drum of Quinn's heart against her own chest.

Sam was glared out of the trailer and then it was just the two of them, with Quinn tipping her head down to Rachel's shoulder and adjusting her arms so that Rachel couldn't possibly be held any closer.

Much sooner than Rachel recalled it having happened in the past, even more-so than the slowing thump against her chest, there was a soft exhalation and Quinn's body seemed to slacken, melding against hers in a way that hadn't happened in years.

"Thank you again for the past couple of days," Rachel started quietly after a while, careful not to disturb the mood. "I know coming here was difficult, so I want to thank you for making the effort. I know it isn't easy to care about other people when, for a long time, you felt like nobody cared about you. I wanted to thank you for a lot of things, actually; the trip, for not shutting me out, for trying to get better. I feel like we've really turned a corner."

The words were like a knife, only this time Quinn wasn't the one wielding it, Rachel was. It was twisted with every sincerely uttered sentence.

It was unbearable.

When she felt Rachel's arms loosen around her, presumably to pull away and look at her while they were speaking, Quinn refused to move and only spoke once Rachel had put her arms back where they'd been.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a strangled sort of tone.

"For what?"

"Everything. That I'm…like this, and all the ways that I hurt you. If there was ever going to be someone who would get me here, I knew it would only ever be you. I know I've done some terrible things but I would never do them to purposely hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Quinn."

"I'm really trying. I need you know that."

Rachel would be in no danger of forgetting that exchange of words for a long time coming.

X

Later that day when their friends were enjoying the last hour or so of sun by the pool, Quinn had dragged Puck to the hotel's gym to let off some steam. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of helping her to release it. If anything, he was riling her up.

"I'm getting too close to you," she gritted out. "Push me away. It's not going to work if—"

Puck shrugged. "Then back off."

Quinn could do that, but the whole point of working out with him was that she wouldn't have to. She lashed out quickly, without a great amount of force, and her wrapped fist grazed his cheek. The look in her eyes was cutting.

"Push me away," she echoed slowly.

Puck stepped backwards instead. "What's up with you?"

"You know I want you to treat this like a regular session and you're on vacation mode. Get with it."

"It's been a long couple of days, I'm tired."

Quinn wiped the slight dampness of her forearm on her hip, shaking the hair out of her eyes. "We'll get you a draft beer and a pack of dominoes soon, Gramps."

Puck gave her a curious look, even as her fists struck the pads against his hands. Whenever Quinn seemed to get into a pattern, stuck in one place of frustration, Puck would counter her attack and knock her hand out of its path or lower his arms completely, forcing her to stop.

Eventually, she got tired of it.

"The rich eighty-something guy we saw in the lobby would be better at this than you."

"Maybe you should have asked someone else," Puck said. "I bet the camera guy would have chopped something off to be here right now. Before you trashed his pride and joy, anyway."

"Put your arms back up," Quinn instructed, guiding them (and by extension, the pads) up to cover his torso. They were much bigger than the ones she had at Rachel's house and for that she was grateful. If only Puck would use them correctly long enough for her to not feel like she was going to bite someone's head off.

Puck was going to tell her that she couldn't simply strike with her fists and expect to be sated. He understood rage and what to do to get a handle on it, and holding back in the gym was not the way to go. Quinn needed to use her entire body and lash out until she was too tired to go on. The thing was, she knew that and she had been trying to let go completely but he wasn't making her work for it and couldn't help but feel uncomfortable laying into him if he wasn't totally there with her like he said he was.

There was no resistance. Puck was just standing there.

She sighed loudly. "Puck, seriously, if you don't get with it, I'm finding that dinosaur."

He pushed his right arm out swiftly and the large black striking pad covered her chest and shoulders, sending her back several steps. It wasn't as rough as she wanted him to be but it would do. For now.

"That's a start," she conceded. "I'm going to—"

"Why are we here?"

"To dance," Quinn replied sarcastically. "Why do you think?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Just seems kinda weird to me."

"Oh, my God, you are such a Chatty Cathy. Can you zip it?"

Puck decided to phrase it another way. "Why do you want to be here?"

"To blow off some steam; something you are not helping with."

"Yeah, but last night, no offence, you looked like you were about to drop," he stated. "If I'd have pushed you then, you would have been on the floor."

Quinn's pulse began to spike. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

Puck looked at her closely. "Is it? I thought you were gonna be sick for a while."

"I am sick."

"Are you using?"

Air whooshed out from between Quinn's lips; an incredulous expression covering up the panic. "Are you serious?" Her humour faded away at his stoic gaze. "I didn't bring anything here with me on the plane, Puck. I'm not a complete idiot."

"I didn't ask if you brought anything with you, I asked if you're using. Are you?"

"Trust me, the last place I would be if I was high would be a gym, especially with you. No offence," she added spitefully.

"The last place you'd be if you were in withdrawal would be with me." Puck unstrapped the pads from his arms and dropped them to the floor. Any doubts he previously held were no longer there and his eyes hardened as he stalked over to her. "Are you going to keep lying to my face?"

The stubborn resentment to Quinn's face eventually gave way to shame. She licked her bottom lip and turned away from him to begin unravelling one of the wraps he'd fastened around her wrists and knuckles before they begun. She could feel him moving behind, following. "Yes," she gritted out reluctantly. "I used. But I was desperate."

"I can't believe you."

Quinn turned around quickly. "I said I was desperate. Do you think I would have run off into the night otherwise? Do you think I would have used, period, if there was a choice?"

"There _was_ a choice. There was a choice to come to any of us and tell us that you weren't dealing, and let us help you." His face fell even further. "God, there was a _choice_ , Quinn."

"You have no idea what last night was like. In my position, you would have done the same thing, I guarantee it."

"No way," Puck denied. "Not when all of my friends were doing everything they could to help me through a shitty time. At least not without telling them the truth first."

"Fuck you, Puck." Quinn didn't sound as aggressive as she wanted to, she didn't have it in her when she knew how badly she'd screwed up. She'd failed something she set out to do. "I know what I did was wrong but it's not like I wanted to lie to you. And it's going to be fine, I can—"

"Does Rachel know?"

"No," she admitted. "And she's not going to know until I tell her, understand?"

The searching lift of Puck's eyebrows was non-committal. "How do I know you'll do it?"

"The tears might give you some insight as to when I've been to confession."

"Do you have any idea how much you're going to kill her?"

She found it difficult to breathe properly when she thought about that so she was actively trying not to, at least for the time being. She didn't need him bringing it up when she hadn't even decided how best to tell Rachel or what words she could possibly use to soften the blow. "It's crossed my mind."

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Puck asked, genuinely interested. "Huh? Why are you doing all this shit when you're in a good place? You know how many pool guys or waitresses dream of something like this happening to them? It's happening to us, to you, and you're throwing it all away for—"

"I don't judge any of you," Quinn interrupted.

"None of us are killing ourselves. Gotta stop, Quinn," he sighed. "Maybe you could justify it when you didn't have any of us, but you do now. You have all of us. Do you even know how much you have Rachel? Do you know what she'd actually do for you, because if you did I don't think you'd be using that shit. Least I hope not, but then again, the Quinn I know—"

Quinn smiled coldly. "You got inside me once, Puck, and it sure as hell wasn't my head. I don't have to justify _anything_ to you, or anyone else."

"That's bull and you know it. We're your friends! We're the people who love and care about you."

"I do it because I can't stop!" she shouted, silencing him instantly. "I _try_ and I can't. Not completely. But I can just go back to doing half, it was working okay. I'll be fine. All of you talk about the worst possible outcome like there aren't people out there who have lived with addiction for decades. I'm not just going to drop dead or be stupid enough to OD."

"Rachel's still gonna freak."

"You don't open your mouth about this. I swear, Puck, if you don't let me tell her myself…"

"Fine, tell her. Just make it quick. You might be okay lying to her but I'm not."

Not one thing sat well with Quinn regarding her situation, but she knew it was nothing compared to how she was going to feel in a couple of hours and how even stealing the syringe back from Sam was likely to do nothing to her state of mind.

X

Most of Quinn's friends were in the pool, involved in some sort of splash war. Brittany was the clear winner.

Quinn observed them with varying degrees of sympathy. She'd been on the receiving end of many of Brittany's "splashes" when she used to spend afternoons at Santana's pool. Brittany could produce tidal waves, no doubt about it.

Rachel was sitting at a table alone; nursing what looked like a pineapple juice as she shot glum looks over to Kurt as often as humanly possible, silently begging him to glance up once and see how horrible she felt about what happened earlier. That being said, she also wasn't quite ready to offer an apology without knowing he would do the same so her oversized sunglasses dramatically concealed her eyes from anybody who happened to look in her direction.

Finn's arms clutched desperately to the edge of the pool, coughing violently as Brittany's most recent tidal wave victim.

Rachel was in two minds whether or not to be concerned when he began to gag, but before she could offer anything other than a sympathetic purse of her bottom lip there was a touch of cool fingers to the back of her neck.

"Boo."

The coolness to those digits seeped into her blood, making it run cold. Her heart palpitated uncomfortably as Quinn moved into view, pushing some sun-warmed beers to the other side of the table.

Rachel tried to shake it off. The recurring nightmare she'd once had hadn't occurred lately but it was still fresh in her mind. She didn't know that it would ever be forgotten.

"Hi," she said, removing her sunglasses to see her properly. "I-I thought you were with Noah."

"I was," Quinn confirmed. "Wanted to be with you instead."

Rachel smiled at that, forgetting all about Kurt, and leapt out of her seat a moment later, bending over at the waist to rummage through some plastic bags under the table next to them.

With next to no warning, Quinn was gifted with the full sight of Rachel in a bikini. She didn't remember ever seeing her in one before and her eyes widened a little, mouth dropping in a mortified sort of way at first because Rachel was dangerously close to spilling out of the top. Her cheeks heated but the only reason she averted her gaze several moments later was to check that nobody was watching her. After that, her eyes wandered back over to the soft, tanned skin on display.

Rachel straightened herself so quickly that her head missed the edge of the table by only a fraction. She extended both hands towards Quinn. "Your crown, m'lady."

Quinn accepted the abominable pink hat she'd brought earlier that day grudgingly, a quick, forced smile flashing over her face. "Um, thanks, Rachel."

"Of course. Brittany said your bag got mixed up with hers and I insisted that she brought it out here in case you happened to join us. I had a feeling you might. See? The old girl has some life left in her yet."

Quinn wasn't sure why Rachel was referring to her sixth sense as an old lady but she didn't question her on it. Instead, she humoured her with a nod and put the stupid hat on. She felt like an idiot but it made Rachel look at her in a way that had her acutely aware of the muscle beating away inside her chest. She swallowed and looked to the sea of half-full glasses littering the table, plucking a straw out of one of her friends' warm Coca Cola.

"What are you drinking?" she asked, dropping the straw into Rachel's drink a moment later, leaning closer to her to suck some of the juice into her mouth. She made her hand tremble without thinking about it much.

"Rude," Rachel remarked bluntly as Quinn moved back, making her smile around the liquid and straw inside her mouth. She could see that it didn't truly reach Quinn's eyes; the dark circles wouldn't allow it.

Quinn pressed forward again, her fingers holding the straw over Rachel's drink. Sensing what was about to happen, Rachel gasped and covered the rim with her hand.

"Keep it, really."

It was pineapple juice, Quinn found out. Mixed with coconut rum. Though it was incredibly sweet and would never be her first choice —or second, for that matter, she licked the straw. "You _like_ that?" she asked as Rachel drank from the glass.

"Obviously."

"I think you need a beer."

"I think you need a Roadkill Rachel. When you're feeling better, that is. I know alcohol is the last thing on your mind right now. I'm sorry; I probably should have warned you about my drink."

Quinn shook her head, as if she was suddenly remembering to keep up the charade. Her appearance was hardly better than yesterday, so at least she didn't have to add a ridiculous makeup scheme to her already packed schedule and web of lies. "It's all right, it wasn't much." No sooner than she'd said that, her phone rang. She drew it out of her pocket to see who it was.

Rachel's attention was pulled by the sound but Quinn's expression didn't give away who was calling her. "Who's that?"

It was Francis.

"Nobody."

Prior to another question, Rachel's focus was then grabbed by a shrieking Kurt. She stared over at him with doleful eyes. It would have been less effective to put a sad puppy in her seat.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel sighed melodramatically, turning back and making one of Quinn's eyebrows do that thing that she loved.

"Convincing. Are you fighting with Kurt again?"

"No," Rachel denied, her face scrunching up slightly at the sun behind Quinn's head. "Really, we're not. I'm positive that we don't have any other shared friends who he can lie to me about. It's just a little tiff. I'm sure it'll blow over once he apologises to me with my favourite chocolate and a Golden Girls marathon."

"And what does he have to apologise for?"

"Let's just say that he needs to look up the definition of the word 'tact' and apply it to everyday life."

Quinn felt the corners of her mouth turning upward. "Does Rachel Berry need to apologise, too?"

Rachel glanced at her through the corner of her eye. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "But only if he apologises first."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Please don't."

Quinn conceded silently, leaning back in her seat. She felt overdressed sitting next to Rachel but she hadn't packed a bathing suit and was certain that even if she had, she wouldn't be sitting out in it for everyone to see. Especially now, with the knowledge that she was about to hurt all of her friends. She didn't think it unlikely that she would catch fire if she was to lie out in the sun without a care in the world. She wondered what Rachel would think of her when she found out.

Rachel looked sympathetic. "I know I said I wouldn't ask much, but how are you feeling? Have you—have you been terribly sick, or?"

"Really sick. But, um, I'll be… it's not long until we're home, so I'll deal."

"Why don't you go to bed if you feel lousy? I can wake you later, if you want."

Quinn looked back at Rachel with the concerned suggestion, not moving her hand away once Rachel's covered it on top of the table. "Yeah, I think I might," she said. The truth was she was wondering if she could sneak into town without anybody noticing. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Hi, Quinn," Rachel indulged to a weak eye-roll. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"You should stay, have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Quinn said as she rose from her seat, transferring the hideous cap from her own head to Rachel's. She decided quickly that it looked much more adorable on Rachel's head than it would have on hers.

"Are you sure you still feel up to going out tonight? Everyone will understand if you can't, if you're too sick."

Quinn wasn't so sure she had a night out in her anymore. They were only driving to a nearby beach to hang out, but still. It would be a lot of effort. A lot of deceit. "Can I let you know in a while?"

Rachel nodded. "Sure. I'll check with you later?" she asked before the sensation of Quinn's hand sliding up her arm and squeezing her shoulder silenced anything else she might have said.

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

X

Quinn did go to the beach with her friends.

They had to drive a little ways out to get to one that hadn't been damaged but with the large sun lowering on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous shade of orange and pink, nobody cared. Finn, Mike, and Tina were the designated drivers. Luckily for Quinn, Rachel had followed Tina towards one of the three parked rental cars. It was just the three of them on the drive down there. Rachel called shotgun with an alarming amount of vigour and Quinn hadn't been about to challenge her. Besides, it was a little like relief to have the space of the backseat to herself. It gave her time to think between bouts of nausea.

A little like relief or a little like torture, even with Rachel and Tina purposefully singing off-key to recent top forty hits. When they began to rap _horribly_ , Quinn had to lower the window to get enough air that she didn't feel dizzy.

Tina turned the radio down when she looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the quiet misery to her friend's face.

"There are bags behind Rachel's seat if you need to barf."

Rachel was craning her neck to the point of snapping as she turned to see Quinn, or a flash of blonde hair, anyway. She couldn't rotate her neck one-hundred-and-eighty degrees no matter how hard she tried. "Quinn, we can go back if you're not feeling up to it."

Quinn _wasn't_ feeling up to it, but it was probably going to be a long time until she could be around her friends and Rachel without all of them hating her, so she wanted to stay. "I'm fine."

"You're not, I can tell," Tina said worriedly. A moment later, Rachel twisted her body around to see into the back seat. "If you don't turn back around right now, I'm slamming on the breaks."

It was okay, Rachel had seen enough. She faced forward to dig through her purse and then thrust her arm behind her seat. "I thought one of these might help. I have plenty more. When the guys were getting gas and beer, I ran in for gum and the biggest bag of these that I could see."

Quinn took the lollipop from Rachel's hand without touching her fingers. She couldn't remember having one of those since the morning sickness stage of her pregnancy when she would walk into school to find that Rachel had taped one to her locker every morning after finding out that it helped to ease off the nausea during the day.

If Rachel didn't stop, Quinn thought she might actually have to use one of those bags behind her seat.

They all managed to park near each other and Quinn got out of the car without looking at either Puck or Sam, who were actually busy emptying the trunks but she didn't want to chance anything. Rachel's hand brushed her arm and then Kurt was there looking apologetic while Blaine and Mercedes watched on intently, having been clued in on the ride down there.

"Rach, can we talk?" Kurt asked.

Rachel was inwardly thrilled that he was going to be the first one to apologise but still looked to Quinn. "Will you be okay?"

"Sure she will," Brittany declared confidently, slinging her arm around the other blonde's shoulders. As soon as Rachel and Kurt headed off, Santana began to wade through the sand with the muscles to her arms contracted as she carried large coolers forward. Brittany and Quinn followed, one feeling slightly guilty for being empty-handed and the other with no such worries as she pressed an impulsive kiss to the side of the other's face.

"You smell like summer," Brittany informed Quinn.

"Uh, thanks."

"I'm really glad you're here."

Quinn arm slipped around Brittany's waist. "Me too, Britt."

X

They stayed at the beach long after the sun had set, talking, laughing, dancing. Someone had burst into song at least a handful of times, prompting several of what Rachel declared 'epic jam sessions'. It was very likely that the empty bottles of wine that had previously been stored away in Santana's coolers had something to do with Rachel's enthusiasm and the way that she also professed that she couldn't remember being happier.

She wasn't quite drunk but she was definitely nowhere close to sober, either. A fact that became apparent when she tripped over Finn's log-like legs that were sprawled out, sending her staggering dangerously close to the fire they'd built. Mike caught her before anything was singed and Finn sat with his legs folded closely in front of him for the rest of the night.

Quinn felt worse with each passing minute. The guilt could have swallowed her like the sea as Rachel laughed and danced with Mercedes and Puck to a song Artie currently blasted through the radio that Quinn was sure they'd performed in Glee once. A lifetime ago.

They felt like stolen images, scenes that she shouldn't be allowed to witness with the poisonous words festering on her tongue and allowed herself another few seconds before she trained her eyes on the crashing black waves not too far ahead.

"I'm cold," Brittany blurted out after a moment, to almost everyone's astonishment. It was eighty-three degrees at ten-thirty at night. Nobody in their right mind would be cold, and yet she and Santana left towards one of the rental cars to retrieve a cardigan anyway.

There was a space left between Tina and Quinn now that Brittany had left and only a brief second passed until Tina closed the gap.

"Want some more water?"

Quinn brought her hand up from under the blanket that Rachel had insisted on putting around her shoulders when she thought Quinn looked chilly and showed Tina the three-quarters full bottle she still had left. "I'm good."

"I'm sad you can't really dance with me right now," Tina's hand shot to Quinn's knee when she saw her rueful expression. "But no, it's totally cool. It's for a great reason. You should rest, anyway. Rachel would probably tackle me if she knew I wanted to get you using the energy you should be saving. I can't imagine how awful you must be feeling."

"Yeah." Quinn glanced up to make sure everybody was distracted and uncorked a test tube, scooping up some white sand from beside her leg. "Rachel's probably going to be really upset tomorrow," she said, pushing the stopper back inside. "Seeing the destruction and hearing the stories from the victims or the construction workers… You should give her this as a reminder of how she felt tonight."

Tina took it with a bemused smile. "Where'd you get this tube?"

"Some store in town. The owner wouldn't let me buy just one, so I had to get, like, twelve of them and a stupid rack. Cost me ten bucks."

"Why don't you give it to her?"

"I think it would be better coming from you."

Tina's brows had risen. "You're crazy," she stated. "But okay."

X

Sometime later when everybody was sitting near to the fire enraptured with stories and anecdotes of each others lives since high school, Quinn could no longer keep a handle on it and had to leave with a weak excuse of wanting to stretch her legs. She thought leaving the group for even ten minutes would help but the further she stepped away, the faster the tears welled in her eyes.

She was such an idiot. She should have asked for help when she needed it.

Quinn walked far enough that she would still be able to see them and the fire in the distance but not close enough that she'd be able to hear them. She sat down in the sand with an unsteady exhale.

It wasn't often that Quinn cried these days but when she did, she typically found that it was difficult to stop once she'd allowed herself to start. Tonight was no different. The humidity mixed with her tears had a heady effect on Quinn, and after a few minutes she figured that must have been why she didn't hear anybody approaching until they sat down neatly beside her.

Rachel saw Quinn's eyes drift shut, forehead creasing, and she took her hand wordlessly, turning it over to press a kiss to her palm. She knew better than to do anything but to sit there with Quinn, hands joined on her lap. If Quinn wanted to talk, Rachel was there. And if she didn't, well, Rachel would be there for that, too.

It was curious to feel such heat and be able to smell the salt of the sea with Rachel so close. And not for the first time lately, Quinn could imagine herself drowning another way.

X

When they heard the telling rumbles predicting a fast approaching rainstorm they decided to make their way back to the town they were staying in and find one of the local bars to crash. On the way back, Brittany and Santana had jumped inside Tina's rental and nobody spoke about the growing tension that filled the car as Quinn and Rachel remained mostly silent.

Close to the hotel, Quinn asked Tina if she would drop her off there instead.

Brittany and Santana told her to feel better and they'd check in on her in the morning. Tina told her she'd put some herbal concoction in her purse and to only drink it before going to sleep because it would knock her out faster than an elephant tranquiliser. Rachel was the only one of the women who remained quiet.

As Quinn headed inside the hotel and Tina made her way back out to the road, Santana gave the side of Rachel's head an incredulous look. "Did you catch your tongue on that fire? Why didn't you say anything?"

Rachel just wasn't sure if Quinn _wanted_ her there. Quinn had been pretty adamant that certain aspects of withdrawal weren't exactly something she wanted to share with anyone. It was Santana that snapped her out of the stupor. Rachel had unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open before Tina even had chance to slow down.

Santana jumped forward to grip Rachel's arm. "I didn't mean for you to fling yourself out of a moving _vehicle_ , Looney Tunes," she clarified as the car lurched to a sudden stop.

"Rachel!" Tina exclaimed shrilly.

Rachel apologised for frightening them, told them to have a great time, and then she was heading off towards the hotel.

She smiled and was polite to the staff as she made her way through the lobby, even apologised to the older man for walking over the marbled floor that he was in the middle of buffing. The elevator was empty and she took it straight up to her floor without anybody calling it on the way.

Rachel stepped out of it and made her way to the right, knocking her knuckles to Quinn's door when she reached it. She knew it wouldn't be answered right away and this time she had to be patient and wait, which she did. When the door was ultimately pulled open, Quinn opened it fully and stood to the side to allow her past.

There was a miniature bottle of vodka empty on the desk that made Rachel's eyebrows knit closer together. Her bewilderment only worsened when she saw the detached resolution to Quinn's face.

Of course, it couldn't have been further from the truth and Quinn wasn't entirely positive that she wouldn't end up hunched over the toilet any second. She wasn't shaking externally but her insides were vibrating anxiously in spite of the alcohol she'd downed seconds before there'd been a knock to her door.

"Hey."

"Hey," Quinn replied, walking away from the door.

"I just came to check you were okay."

"I'm fine, Rachel." The words were out before she could stop them, but maybe it was just as well. Quinn didn't know where to even start.

"You're not…fine," Rachel returned. "Look, it's just us, okay? Everyone is at a bar in town. I don't know if you want to talk or if you'd rather just try to rest, but whatever's going to make you feel better, I think—I think that's what you should do tonight. I could stay, keep an eye on you. You must be going through hell. The beach really wasn't a good idea. I knew it before the car even left the lot tonight."

Quinn acknowledged the words but made no attempt to look her in the eyes. It was too hard.

Rachel pressed on despite of it. "If you're still feeling sick, like you're going to throw up any second, I have more—"

"I'm not. I mean, I am, but I don't feel sick because of that."

"Oh," Rachel said gently, not truly following. She tried to fit the pieces together but she came up blank until she retraced the day in her mind and stopped at a specific part. "So, why? Was it the little Mexicans? I said to Sam that they looked a little shifty. Maybe the food was—"

"The food was fine."

Rachel's expression turned curious. "Why aren't you looking at me?"

Quinn's gaze immediately fixed to hers and there was no hiding the breath-stealing fear she knew was on her own face. "Sorry."

"Okay?"

"No, I'm sorry. I am. You have to know that." Quinn saw the moment Rachel's face sobered. "All day I've been trying to find the right time to talk to you."

Rachel blinked quickly and held her head higher. "About what?"

Placating excuses lodged inside Quinn's throat, a panicked groan finally slipping past her lips when she saw the desperation of Rachel's eyes that begged her not to say the terrible things running through her mind.

In the end it didn't take any words for Rachel to understand completely, unable to dig her feet into denial for even a second longer. Quinn watched Rachel's lips part and her face begin to fall and she had to look away. When she turned back, tears had swelled in Rachel's eyes.

"It's not how it used to be," Quinn said quickly, trying to make her feel better. "I'm not as— it's like a few days ago, I just took enough to be fine. Normal. I'll be fine like this."

"You're still using."

It wasn't a question but Quinn felt compelled to answer, "Yes."

Other than an audible inhalation that Rachel took and held in, directing a watery gaze on Quinn in a way that spoke of all the ways her heart had just been broken, she made no other sound.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Quinn asked quietly when she couldn't stand the silence any longer. Rachel was visibly upset, so where was the verbal backlash? Where was the fallout? Quinn needed to have the pain and disappointment given back tenfold.

"Like what?"

"That you're mad. Disappointed."

"What difference will it make?"

"You can say it, it's okay," Quinn said, a frantic look blossoming across her face.

Rachel looked downward. "You're not shaking," she observed. "But earlier…"

"I did it to…save you from this, you know, in public. I wanted to tell you."

"Who did you get it from?"

Quinn swallowed nervously. "Jackson has an old friend. He doesn't live that far, so I—I went to him."

"When?"

"Last night."

"When you left my room?"

"No," Quinn denied. "No, it was hours after that."

Rachel tried to process everything. She thought of all the ways things had fallen apart and how Quinn's actions were going to get her killed. She thought of all the ways they had both failed. Mostly, though, Rachel thought of how much she couldn't deal with it right now. It hurt too much.

"I'm sorry," Quinn cried as Rachel turned her body away, making a move towards the door. Rachel's head shook to dismiss it and Quinn followed each step, trying to find purchase on her arm. "Rachel, please believe me when I say—"

"You're not sorry."

"I am," Quinn insisted, trying to keep Rachel's forearm from pulling out of her hand. "I didn't mean to."

"You promised you would come to me if you couldn't deal, and you didn't."

The pained way Rachel looked at her made Quinn want to thump her head off a wall; for being this way, for not being able to control it. "But I didn't want to use. I didn't— I...I tried so hard not to, but I couldn't stop myself."

"I don't care right now."

Quinn became aware of her own tears then. "Please don't go, I have to explain. You have to understand."

"I don't, and I'm not sure I ever will," Rachel said, her voice carrying a current of resignation that spiked through Quinn and settled in her chest.

She could take anything but that.

"The first time I ever used, it was at a party," Quinn blurted out. "After a party. I'd just moved to New York and I was partying all the time, keeping the same bad habits I picked up in Chicago, and I met Francis. He was funny, didn't try any stupid lines on me, and I was drunk out of my mind so when he said he knew what would put a real smile on my face and asked me to go home with him, I said yes. We—we were in his bed, and I was—"

"You can skip the part where you fucked him."

The sharpness of Rachel's tone only made Quinn pause for a second. "He fastened a tourniquet on my arm and I—I knew it was going to be serious, I knew I was getting into something way bigger than me, but I didn't care. I was so drunk and lonely and sick to death of feeling the way that I felt, so all I asked was how it would make me feel. He said it would make me feel good, so I let him do it. I watched him pierce the skin with the needle and then it was the most incredible feeling I'd ever felt."

Discovering that Quinn had been in the same state as her when she first used, not very far away at all, and that it wasn't even a sober decision, made Rachel want to scream. Scream, cry, then scream some more. She couldn't breathe properly, or even see straight. Being locked in a room wasn't helping matters.

She didn't scream, not yet, but her eyes were wet with fresh tears. Her head moved. "But now, when you're sober… when you look around at how much it's costing you or those around you, how can it make you feel good? Does it make you forget where the road is going to lead, or do you just not care?"

Another time and Quinn might have pointed out that there were plenty of long-term functioning users out there, but not now. She couldn't answer the other questions without making Rachel feel worse, because of course it didn't make her feel good to use. At the time, yes, but afterwards when she was herself again, all those feelings of resentment and disgust returned in full force. But it was those windows of time she'd craved in a day for years; where she felt amazing.

Quinn ended up fretting over how to reply for so long that Rachel started to leave. "Say something. Scream at me," Quinn begged, watching her get closer to the door. The calmness was not a good sign. "Rachel, please. Destroy me!" Rachel's steps halted and she turned, breathing quickly as she looked back at Quinn with so much hurt shining in her eyes that Quinn wanted the earth to open up. "Say it," she said when there was nothing to fill the silence.

Rachel stood there stubbornly, unwilling to.

"Come on," Quinn demanded. Rachel shook her head swiped at some tears with the backs of her fingers. It twisted Quinn up inside. "You know you're itching to. Tell me I'm stupid and weak and I deserve everything I have coming to me."

Rachel turned away again, frowning deeply. It hurt because she was angry and she did think a couple of those things. She'd scream them if she thought it would do any good but she knew from previous experience it wouldn't.

In a second, Quinn was in front of her holding her face in her hands. Rachel brushed the contact off almost right away and focused on a spot beside Quinn instead.

"I need to go. I need some space to think tonight, so please move."

"No. Just say it."

"Move."

"Say it," Quinn echoed again, getting increasingly desperate as Rachel refused to look at her. "Rachel, say it," she finally shouted.

"No!" Rachel brushed by her, heading away from the door simply to get some distance between their bodies. She couldn't breathe when Quinn was that close.

"Tell me you're done!"

She spun around with a dizzying kind of rage and resentment flashing through her eyes but still the words refused to leave her throat as Quinn closed most of the gap between them. Rachel could feel the anger and betrayal as keenly as the alcohol in her system, mixing together into one disastrous recipe.

"Tell me I was never worth it!" Quinn persisted. "Tell me you hate me!"

Rachel took a single step forward and shoved Quinn away from her. "I do hate you," she yelled. "I hate this part of you, Quinn!" She hated that it wasn't Quinn, that it was the disease. She hated how tightly it was latched on and that it was taking her away.

It was what Quinn thought she needed to hear but the words forced inside of her and erupted like a grenade. She grabbed the back of her head to try to make it stop but she could still feel her blood thundering in her ears. When she darted forward, framing Rachel's face once more, her hands shook unsteadily.

"I'm sorry," Quinn apologised urgently. "I'm so sorry."

Rachel pulled away another time, reluctant to allow Quinn's despair to have any hold over her. She couldn't feel anything for the way that Quinn looked like she _hated_ herself, or the way that Quinn's eyes were just as red and wet as hers.

"It kills me that I— Rachel, please don't give up on me."

"I can't do this right now," she admitted. "You have to give me some time." Saying that she couldn't care and actually doing it were two different things, Rachel learned. She had to leave. She pulled her hand away from Quinn's twice on the trek over to the door and ripped it open. The hallway felt better, like the first breath of fresh air after being sick in bed for days. That was until Quinn was hurrying up to her.

"Tell me how I can stop it," Quinn begged. "I can make it go away if you just tell me."

Rachel whirled around. "But that's exactly it, there is a way. There's a way and you can't or won't do it. Unless something huge changes, I feel like you'll promise you will but we'll end up here again. You'll break my heart again and again, and I can't let you do that. I can't keep standing around watching you get closer and closer to—" She stopped abruptly when Quinn dropped to her knees and grabbed both of her hands.

"Rachel…"

"Get up."

"Please understand. I tried so hard not to do it. I fought against it for as long as I could."

"But you didn't fight for _me_ ," Rachel challenged. "You promised you would come to me and you didn't. I've been in your corner since the second I saw those track marks. I was doors away from you, Quinn. How hard would it have been to knock on my door instead of that creep you went to? How hard would it have been not to lie to my face today?"

Quinn's stomach felt heavy and twisted with shame as she got back to her feet. "I didn't want you to see me like that."

"Like this is any better? God, I don't care how you look. Why would that even matter to me? Nothing terrifies me more than looking at you and knowing you have stuff in your system that shouldn't be there, that could kill you each and every time you use it." As if proving her point, she had to turn away not long after. "I really can't do this right now. Maybe tomorrow, when I've had time to think, but not now."

Rachel's tone made Quinn feel sick. It didn't sound like Rachel felt too inclined to speak to her tomorrow at all. "I don't know what I would do without you anymore," she confessed.

A blazing ache made Rachel's chest throb but she didn't let on. "I'm calling a cab," she said flatly. "I'll call Brittany and find out where they are so I can join them."

"God, it's _half_ ," Quinn stressed. "It's not even a full dose. It'll be fine, I promise. It won't get out of hand."

"It's not fine," Rachel rebuffed heatedly. "What's wrong with you? You'll be in a box!" At that, she dissolved back into tears and changed her mind abruptly, needing to be alone instead of surrounded by strangers. She made it to her own door in seconds and then she was being turned and pushed against it, Quinn's lips pressing against her face.

"I'm so sorry."

Rachel's eyes were closed. "It doesn't matter," she eventually said.

A desperate sound escaped Quinn's throat before she said, "I'm _sorry_."

Rachel moved them inside so that they would at least have some privacy if any other guests happened to come back after their night out. She flicked the lights on and waited for Quinn to close the door. "What am I supposed to do with that? You're sorry? Does it—will it make a difference? Will it stop you the next time?"

Quinn was at a loss. She tried to touch her, to hold her arms or hands but Rachel wasn't having any of it. "Rachel…"

"Don't touch me, talk. Tell me that being sorry is enough."

Quinn's head moved. "You have to understand."

"But I don't," Rachel replied. "And a verbal apology isn't going to cut it, or even what I want. We both need actions not words this time. You need rehab—"

With that choice of words, Quinn had what would turn out to be the best or worst idea she'd ever had and lurched forward to press her mouth against Rachel's, kissing her in a long press of their lips. She withdrew to find Rachel stunned and breathless but she saw enough in her eyes to feel emboldened enough to do it again, shorter this time, gentler. She held Rachel's face in her hands, dropping one to hold the top of her arm, and kissed her lips and then along her jaw and down to her neck. Quinn's hand lowered to Rachel's side, holding her in place as her mouth drifted down, barely tasting the skin of her neck when smaller hands were holding on to her forearm and hip, gently pushing.

"Quinn."

"I've seen the way you look at me." Quinn felt Rachel hesitate and was quick to reassure her, squeezing her side. "It's okay, sometimes I— sometimes I look at you, too. Sometimes it's all I can think about."

"Quinn." Rachel's voice came out stronger.

Quinn's resolve was beginning to be rebuilt with her newfound epiphany. "I can make you forgive me. I'll— I'll do whatever you want and you can do whatever you want to me, I won't stop you." She pressed forward again with the intent to claim Rachel's lips but this time there was a hand against her chest preventing her as soon as the words registered.

"You won't stop me?"

Rachel looked wounded and Quinn suddenly realised what she'd just said when brown eyes were filling again. Her face twisted, trying to explain. "I can—I can prove to you that I'm sorry…"

"What is that?"

Quinn stepped away and grabbed the back of her head because it felt like it was spinning again but she was not blind to Rachel's heart breaking all over her face.

"God, where are you?"

Quinn had no idea. All she knew was that she had to leave and didn't look back once as she ripped the door open and pulled it shut behind her just as harshly.


	16. It Takes An Ocean

The rehabilitation centre was not what Quinn had been expecting when Kurt and Mercedes first brought it up a week ago at the studio. She'd pictured being taken to a crowded relief shelter and the worst possible state of disaster instead of being taken to one of the safer, more re-developed areas that was steadily being rebuilt from the constant support of the community and generous donations of time and money from the public. It was also a smaller scale development than she'd imagined, with twenty or so houses in various stages of rebuild. The houses at the front of the site were mainly complete except for aesthetics and the ones near the back had the most work left to finish. The group were there to assist in any way they could, as long as it was approved by a person of authority on site.

They were to be split up into pairs.

As soon as that information was shared, Quinn looked away from the site manager and chanced a look to the left where she knew Rachel was standing, with four people between them. She wondered if their partners would be chosen for them like some sort of school project but no, they were free to choose themselves as long as they were quick about it. Rachel and Kurt were the first two to pair up. Quinn wouldn't have had the courage to look her in the eyes anyway, so it was probably for the best that they would spend the morning apart. She understood that after last night Rachel wouldn't want anything to do with her today, perhaps even for a while. Quinn could rationalise it. If Rachel needed some time —and judging from the way she'd avoided her all morning that was indeed the case, then Quinn would keep some distance.

Sam and Puck hadn't said a word to her yet. As everyone had waited in the lobby for Rachel (the last member of the group to join them) earlier in the morning, those two had stood off to the side talking, looking like they were about to question Quinn for an update until Rachel breezed past everyone wearing oversized sunglasses and sans her typically warm good morning greeting and strode right up to Kurt, joining their hands and continued out to the car without a word. By then it was obvious that she was no longer clueless.

While Quinn was preoccupied thinking of last night's events, Tina called out her name to say that she was with her for the day.

Tina wanted to get stuck into it so they ended up near the back of the development while Rachel and Kurt stayed near the front, something Quinn was unsure if was intentional or not. As she and Tina headed away following the site manager to their plot, she looked back and opened her mouth to say anything but nothing came out. If Rachel wanted to talk, Quinn was certain she'd know about it. She turned away just as Rachel lifted her head.

Quinn and Tina's job was to assist with the building of a porch.

It was harsh in the sun, even in October, but Tina had brought plenty of sunscreen and didn't hesitate to run back to the tent where all of their belongings were being kept. Once they were both suitably protected, Tina was about to excuse herself to put it back when she caught sight of an attractive construction worker and couldn't help but point out the dangers of over-exposure to the sun and why it was in his best interest to protect himself. It was all worth it when he took off his vest and asked her to put some on his shoulders.

The people were funny and friendly and their instructions were easy enough to follow. They were each given a hard hat, necessary tools, and a hi-vis jacket that they were to wear when walking through delivery and vehicle routes. When a certain construction worker told Tina she looked cute in hers, she kept it on at all times despite the stifling heat. Quinn wound hers through a belt loop and tied it into a knot. There was no way she would be wearing anything other than the clothes she'd put on this morning.

The porch foundation had been started the day before, so that and half of the floor had been laid by the time lunch rolled around. She and Tina, under constant supervision, had been handed the correct sized slats of wood to fix down and it was just good to have something else to focus on. It saved her from going crazy. The light-hearted digs from the construction workers over the red blisters on her hands were also helpful.

Finn walked up the concrete steps and smiled when he saw the progress. He and Puck were working two houses down and he'd seen where they were at on his way earlier. "You guys do all this?"

"Yeah," Tina said proudly, "with no help or guidance from these guys whatsoever."

"None," one of their supervisors supported, who had been giving them continuous tips and advice as they worked. "These are two capable women here. If I'd have known I would get the good ones today, I would have given my guys the day off."

"Hey, no," Finn said. "The good ones are two plots down."

Quinn was drying her hairline with the back of her wrist when her supervisor, Dennis, smiled over at her and Tina.

"Gonna have to disagree with you there, buddy."

Finn raised his hands in submission and then it was just the three of them as the workers left for their lunch break. "So, are you guys coming over for lunch?"

"To your new house?" Tina teased.

"No, under the tent. You know, the one with the coolers and benches up the street? I think Santana's brought everyone lunch, so we can eat and maybe take like a ten minute nap," he said, smiling boyishly when he admitted, "I'm so beat. I don't know how these guys do this every day."

"I could do it." Of course, Tina's job had been a lot less physically demanding than Finn's. He'd been helping to build a patio and had been transporting the poured concrete to and from the truck, each full wheelbarrow weighing just over three-hundred pounds.

"Might have to test that theory after we've refuelled." Finn turned to Quinn, who had pressed her lips together in greeting when he'd arrived but had otherwise remained silent. "You okay? Are you coming for lunch? Brittany will probably eat everything if we don't get going."

"I'm not hungry," she said. "I think I'll hang out here for a while."

"Come on, Quinn," Tina whined.

"There's no way you're not starving," Finn proclaimed. "I could eat a cow, and I'm not sure I don't mean that literally." He could tell that didn't touch her, so he added, "Rach is gonna charge down here if you're not with us."

Quinn doubted that. "I might catch you up."

Finn felt uneasy about leaving her there but after a reassuring look from Tina he left them alone. Tina watched Quinn sit down on the short porch railing and face out to the street. She sat down beside her, keeping her back to it. She'd had the feeling that something wasn't right all day. Quinn looked different and she was quieter than usual, if that was possible. Tina also hadn't missed the way Quinn hadn't said Rachel's name once or the way that the brunette hadn't found a handful of excuses to visit them throughout the morning.

While they weren't exactly joined at the hip and never excluded their friends, it was normal for Quinn and Rachel to be together now. Tina had noticed the pointed way that neither of them had spoken to each other all day, and the way Quinn looked like something was weighing on her mind.

"Are you okay, Quinn?"

"It's too hot to be stuffing my face. I think I'd end up in a coma."

"That's not what I asked."

Quinn lifted the damp hair from the back of her neck, shaking her hand up and down to get some air there. "I'm fine," she said.

"Why aren't you with Rachel? I figured you guys would be running up and down the street to each other all day. You know Kurt's been thinking about transporting her around in a wheelbarrow ever since we heard about this trip. I thought she would have ended up with you by now."

"She's mad at me," Quinn blurted out, before her nerve went.

"How come?"

"Not mad," she amended. "That's not the right word."

Tina waited for an elaboration that never came. "Okay, why's Rachel _not_ mad at you?"

Quinn was quiet for a prolonged moment. "I'm using," she admitted, careful not to look her in the eyes or be overheard. The sharp screech of an electric saw cutting through wooden posts in the next yard made sure her voice wouldn't carry, and she added, "We got into it last night. Like, blood everywhere."

"Quinn…"

"Not— not literally." She glanced up when Tina held her hand and she saw the hurt on her friend's face and the way it looked like Tina didn't understand at all.

"Why?"

"I can't stop. Not completely. I want to, but I can't. It's just something I have to live with."

"Well, no, that's crap," Tina stated.

"You don't get it."

"Maybe not totally," Tina shrugged. "But I do know that the only way to get over a hurdle is to keep trying. So you've fallen a few times, who cares? Get back up. Keep trying. Join a program. I know you hate even the word, but rehab would be so good for you if you let it."

Quinn understood that, but at the same time she felt cutting down was an achievement in itself. "But it's only _half_. It's not even a full dose. That's still amazing for me."

"It's incredible," Tina conceded. "You did so great. But it doesn't mean that you can't do so much better." Tina considered Rachel's reaction and grimaced for her friend. "How'd Rach take it?"

"Like you can imagine."

"You should really talk to h—"

"I know," Quinn interrupted, wishing more than anything that she could do that. "I know, but I screwed up _again_ , and she hates me."

Tina's head inclined to the side. "She doesn't hateyou, Quinn."

"She said she did."

"How many times have we all said something in the heat of the moment? It happens."

"It felt different," Quinn protested dejectedly. "And I know I deserved it. I lied to her. I shouldn't expect her to forgive me."

"You have to stop lying and she will," Tina urged. "A setback doesn't have to be a concrete post, you know? Try again a different way, and keep trying until something sticks. That's what Rachel needs. Not even just her; that's what you need, too. In the meantime, I'm sure if you guys talk on the plane you could start to clear the —"

"I did something," Quinn revealed with a crease of her head and a lingering lick to her bottom lip. "It was the wrong time, place… and I really screwed up. It's all I'm doing," she fretted. "For the first time in years, I actually have more than one more person to care about and I don't know how to deal with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to not be selfish anymore."

"You do, I've seen it. Quinn, look, whatever you did and however badly you messed up, if you're really sorry then you'll find a way to fix it."

Quinn couldn't help but wonder if there was anything she could ever do to make up for all the things she'd done.

X

It took some time for her to build up enough nerve to even leave the plot. Most of the workers were getting lunch somewhere else and the semi-deserted site was strange to be in. If it was dark, it might have been eerie. Each step towards the tent was an effort, and not solely because she was terrified; the safety boots everybody had been required to wear were much heavier than her favoured footwear.

Upon spotting the two tents —more specifically, Rachel's back as she sat underneath one of them with the rest of the group, Quinn looked down to her own hands and arms and grimaced. They were dirty. She didn't want to talk to Rachel looking like that when the rest of her was such a mess, so she opted for the next tent which covered the supplies.

It wasn't just her imagination that the atmosphere was thick; she could feel it all the way over there. Rachel had told everyone. Or perhaps she had nothing to do with it and Puck or Sam, or even Tina had delivered the news. Either way, Quinn was inclined to believe that the cat was out of the bag. She wondered how long it would take Santana to confront her.

Quinn was grateful for Tina's forethought to bring any hygienic products along with her and was just finishing cleaning up when she noticed her friends getting back up to go back to work. She dropped the used baby wipes in the trash can and took out a fresh one to clean her hands a final time as Rachel approached. Quinn stood straighter and could feel her heart beating.

Rachel didn't look at her as she passed further down a long table to pick up her purse and grab her phone from it. Quinn watched her cradle the cell with both hands and look down to begin texting.

"Is that Johnny?"

Rachel's stance wasn't overly guarded. If anything, it was open; standing slightly slouched as if she had every ounce of control over the exchange. Quinn wasn't about to disagree.

"No."

"One of your friends?" When she was met with only silence that time, Quinn's mouth opened and closed nervously, unsure if now was the time to push or back off. She couldn't tell and it drove her crazy. She saw Rachel lift a hand to her head and push her hair back and something caught her eye. "What's that?" she asked, her voice taking on a more serious edge that prompted Rachel's eyes to look up from the small screen to see what she meant.

Rachel turned her hand over to see what Quinn was talking about and she saw a long red scrape down the side of it. It didn't hurt and she couldn't even remember doing it. She wasn't sure how it could have happened when she'd spent over half of her morning painting.

"Nothing," Rachel said disinterestedly.

Quinn walked over to the first-aid box and went through it until she had the necessary items in hand; closing most of the distance between her and Rachel before she opened the packet containing the alcohol wipe and reached for her hand. Judging by the way Rachel immediately pulled away from her, it was the wrong move to make.

"You shouldn't go back out there without cleaning up," Quinn advised quietly.

"And you shouldn't have walked over here without wearing that," Rachel returned, gesturing to the hi-vis tied through Quinn's belt loop. She started to dig through the same first-aid box, coming away with an alcohol wipe and a band-aid instead of taking them from Quinn. "But you're right, one of us should get clean," she murmured, turning away to presumably head back to work.

"Rachel, wait."

"What?" Rachel sighed.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, Quinn, if that's what you want," she said softly, spying the way some of the tension left Quinn's shoulders at the admittance. "Talk."

The words died in Quinn's throat when Rachel turned on her heel and left without waiting for an explanation.

Quinn wasn't sure if persisting was an entirely selfish act or if the most selfish thing she could do would be to avoid the situation at all costs, but she did know that she owed Rachel an explanation and about a million apologies at this point. With a steadying breath, Quinn untied the, in her opinion, unflattering hi-vis jacket and threw it around her shoulders as she strode back through the site to find Tina, who had scoffed a sandwich and was on her way back up the site as she talked with Mike. Quinn let her know what was going on, adding a quick but sincere apology and said that she would be back soon.

"Hey, Quinn?" Mike called out as she'd turned away. It gained her attention again.

"Yeah?"

He looked nothing but sincere when he said, "I want you to know that I still think you can get better. No matter what, it's never too late to try again."

Quinn never expected any hostility from Mike, but she also hadn't anticipated that. "You're not mad at me?"

"Not mad. I don't think it's something we can get mad at you for. You were kind of incredible the other day. There's no reason you can't be again, if that's what you want. The dust will settle, and when it does you're going to have to be ready."

"For what?"

"To fight."

Quinn nodded but it was more to acknowledge the words than anything. She did want to stop. She wanted to know that her body was clean and she didn't have to resort to a shitty job and even worse actions to feed her addiction. Withdrawal was different for different people, but she couldn't get past it. Something always stopped her. And she hated it more than anything.

To stop those feelings, she would use again. A vicious cycle.

"Thanks, Mike."

It was a swift and pleasant exchange with no questions asked, but she didn't make it far and she saw that Finn was stalking towards her, his face set crossly. She headed towards him and didn't stop once she passed him.

"Quinn, what the hell?" His voice wasn't kind but it also didn't have the same fire that his eyes did. "Is it true?"

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely, not slowing down. "But not now. I have to talk to Rachel."

"You were doing so well," Finn mused, his voice losing its slight edge once he heard hers. "And then you threw away all that hard work and progress for a hit, just like that?" He looked confused. "The past couple of days should have proved that you can do it. I mean, you were doing awesome. On a total roll. What about your future? Have you even thought about what it's gonna be like if you're in the clouds for most of it, or how much of it is even left?"

Quinn turned around abruptly. "It wasn't like that," she denied. "Whatever I want becomes irrelevant when I'm withdrawal. It's not me anymore. But of course I'm thinking about the future," she almost hissed. "It's why I'm still on half my regular amount. I'm still trying."

Finn's mouth quirked. "Maybe. But not the way you should be at this point." If he went by her hardened gaze and the way she walked off with a shake of her head, it would seem that didn't go over well. And if she was heading to Rachel he had half a mind to offer her some luck. She would need it.

Kurt doubled as Rachel's bodyguard when Quinn found her several minutes later. They were painting a porch railing, Quinn noticed as she walked past a freshly painted fence. There was nothing quite like the shame that the best friend stirred up within her; well, as long as Rachel's Dads weren't around, then she wasn't sure she'd be anything but a pile of ashes on the ground. She approached him cautiously and Kurt couldn't help but sharpen his eyes some when he saw who it was. Not a lot, but some. He was mostly worried at how much more damage was going to be caused because just when he thought things couldn't get worse, he was always proven wrong. That wasn't something he wanted to happen again, especially for Quinn while she was fragile and Rachel who was in much of the same state.

"What do you want?"

"Rachel. Can you give us a minute?"

Kurt dipped his paintbrush back into a can of white gloss and moved his shoulder unaffectedly. "I'm painting."

"Paint somewhere else," Quinn said softly, though with an air of authority that she had never lost over the years.

Kurt glanced sideways to his best friend who was concentrating a little too hard on the post she was covering white. "Why should I?" He was only testing her. If she really wanted to talk to Rachel, a little attitude wouldn't deter her. It was his duty as best friend.

"Because I'm asking you to," she answered, resisting an urge to tell him that whatever happened between her and Rachel wasn't as much of his business as he seemed to think because she was glad he was there for Rachel like that.

Being as there was no immediate protest from Rachel, Kurt reluctantly wiped his brush clean and set it on top of the can before he pushed to his feet and made the short journey over to where Quinn was standing, staring at the back of Rachel's head.

Kurt loved Quinn, he did, but there was no denying the unfairness of her actions and the mess his best friend had been in when he went up to her room as soon as he got back from the bar. The way Rachel had fell into him sobbing had sobered him quickly, and though it took some time for the full story to be told, he now knew everything.

"Quinn, I love you," Kurt prefaced, "I want you to get better and I'll support you any way I can and any way you'll let me, but that's my best friend… I'd really appreciate it if you didn't hurt her."

Quinn stared at him until he treaded away from her, and then she turned sideways to watch him walk away completely. When it occurred to her that Rachel could disappear while she had her back turned, Quinn spun around and was relieved to see her still standing in the same spot, carefully stroking a paintbrush up and down a wooden post. As Quinn approached, she could vaguely smell Rachel's perfume and it was comforting as much as it was upsetting.

"How's your hand?" she asked, watching Rachel lean to the side a little in order to see if there was any streaks in her work. It became apparent after several moments that a response was not going to be forthcoming. "Maybe we should get someone to take a look at it. One of these guys has to be a trained first-aider. I don't think they went far for lunch… I could go and find someone."

"It was a barely bleeding scrape, not a gaping gangrenous hole," Rachel stated candidly.

Quinn was momentarily assaulted with an unpleasant visual and then the blow that always came when Rachel spoke to her in a way that heavily implied that she would rather not be. She brushed some hair behind her ears. "Can we talk? Please? I know it's a lot to ask, but we should—"

"How do I know anything you say will be the truth, or even really you who's saying it?"

"Because it will be," Quinn promised, receiving a familiar arch of an eyebrow in response. Okay, so maybe Rachel had picked up a trait. "I swear. I've been dying to talk to you and explain all day."

"I don't suppose you put any thought into what I want."

Quinn had barely slept more than an hour last night for the way she despised herself for putting a look of absolute heartbreak on Rachel's face. Instead of darkness when she closed her eyes, she'd seen Rachel's face in varying degrees of anguish, and now she couldn't stop her eyes from drifting down to Rachel's mouth and remembering the softness of it. "You're all I've been thinking about."

That was something they had in common.

She saw Rachel's resolve begin to crumble for a second, but then it was back.

"We shouldn't be talking right now," Rachel said quietly, affording Quinn another quick glance. "It's not the right time."

Quinn didn't understand how that could be. "Why?" she asked, sounding much younger. Rachel went back to focusing her attention on painting. "I just want you to know how sorry I am, for everything. Everything I said, and…everything I did. I hate myself for it. I don't know what I was thinking." Her stomach twisted the longer Rachel stood there unresponsive. "I can't stand it when you don't talk to me."

"Under the circumstances, I think it's for the best. I'm afraid I'll say something I'll regret."

"You can say anything to me," Quinn stated sincerely, but with some hesitation. She didn't expect or want Rachel to spare her feelings on this. "If you need to… just say it, it's okay."

The fearful look on her face certainly didn't make it seem that way, and Rachel resented the way it made her want to bite through her own tongue when Quinn was right; there were things she needed to say. Needed, but didn't necessarily want to. She didn't want to hurt them both.

Giving voice to her greatest fear since meeting Quinn again would make it real and she couldn't bear for it to be.

She knew Quinn was waiting for something, _anything_ , and the more Rachel tried to ignore her the more Quinn invaded her mind; breathing life into the thoughts that had been festering inside her head for a while now. The white post in front of Rachel began to blur and she blinked to clear it.

"Rachel…"

But not actively voicing thoughts didn't make them magically disappear; they still chewed away at her whenever something terrible happened. They still attacked her mind savagely each time she thought they were past all of that.

"You wouldn't want to know the thing that I'm most afraid of."

"Tell me anyway?" Quinn asked. She watched Rachel carefully wipe the excess paint off her brush before placing it down on top of the porch railing that had yet to be painted as if she was preparing for something. "It's okay," Quinn encouraged. After a moment, Rachel moved to sit on the steps and Quinn followed, sitting a step below on the opposite side so that she was free to look up at her.

Rachel felt her eyes grow with moisture and she closed them to soothe the sting. When she opened them again not a few seconds later, they welled. She cleared her throat lightly but her voice still came out small.

"I feel like you're the moon. You know, when you're a kid and you're in the car at night you try to find the moon. You look all over for it, and when you find it you try to ignore all the houses and trees getting in the way. For those few seconds, there's that quiet desperation to not miss a single moment of this brilliant light that lights up a darkened sky, because how amazing is that?" Rachel wished she didn't look as defeated as the resignation to her voice sounded. "You have two sides to you, Quinn, just like everyone else; light and dark. It's like a moon on water; even the deepest black can be cut through with enough light, so it's not just reflected. A-and I still think that, but lately it's getting harder to believe it when…when you promise things and _try_ —and I know you have tried. I do. That's what makes it so much worse."

Rachel's honesty was making her voice quiver and it made her feel awful because she didn't even have it in her to pretend anymore. "When it comes to you, I'm starting to feel like a kid again and that scares me so much because that means I'm limited. I'm in the back seat and it doesn't matter how fast I'm travelling or how I never take my eyes off you, the truth is I'll never be any closer to you than I am right now." Voicing that particular dark fear had left an aching, throbbed sensation in her throat with each word, leaving it terribly constricted and stinging. She swallowed to battle it. "That's what I'm afraid of," she finished thickly.

Rachel was in the position to watch tears slip down Quinn's face until one dripped off her cheek, and the power did nothing but exacerbate the sharpness to her own chest. The way Quinn looked at her with so much hurt inflicted in her shining eyes made it extremely difficult to breathe from the weight of it. She wished so badly that things were different, that she had the power to do more, but she had come to understand that there was nothing she could truly do for Quinn if Quinn wouldn't help herself first.

And that kind of grasp on the situation had only truly sunk in last night.

Quinn had always known Rachel would feel that way about her. She'd predicted it a long time ago and it was always going to be a matter of time. It was always going to feel like hell. She inhaled deeply, trying to cool the inferno blazing inside her chest upon hearing those words but it did little to help. Her expression was overwhelmed but her voice came out flat and strangely calm.

"No-one's ever been closer than you," Quinn insisted, chasing it with a nervous swallow and the most confident nod she could muster, as if the barest action would prove as evidence. While she conceded that there had been good people in Illinois with whom she'd vaguely been connected to once upon a time, there had never been anyone like Rachel. And although Quinn could lump that into a 'because I was depressed' box, she knew it would be a lie. As difficult as she found it to trust, she knew of the prevalent good in people and had experienced it extended to her by others during their years apart. It was just never as all-consuming as Rachel's and the relentless way in which the brunette readily offered so much of herself in any sort of relationship. At least Rachel had now discovered where to draw the line so that she, herself, could be the priority once in a while.

Rachel looked like she was going to say something else when a team of construction guys returned from their lunch break, rapidly approaching and infringing upon the private moment. She wiped at her eyes and instead worked a lighter expression to her face in an attempt to rid herself of any evidence that she was having anything but a wonderful, fulfilling time there. Unfortunately it didn't do much to the pained, dejected tone to her voice. "I have to go." Quinn didn't say anything to her when Rachel got up and stepped down, but the wordless way her fingers were grasped said enough and Rachel couldn't take it. "I said what I needed to. I really can't do this right now, okay. I need time to… I just need some more time to deal with this."

Quinn's hand fell away and she used it to try and wipe her face dry before ducking her head past the workmen and Rachel as she made a brisk exit. As she got further away, Quinn started to think that the clear liquid running from her eyes again, salty and warm, was her body's way of trying to expel the water that filled her lungs each time she sank. It had happened so recurrently over the past couple of days that she wondered if maybe she would be able to breathe soon.

X

When it came to packing up her things, Quinn approached the task with zeal. Each item of clothing; her shoes, the necessary toiletries she'd needed, and the few things she had brought on the trip were thrown back into her case quickly and carelessly. Their check-out time had been extended per request (and surcharge) and they were due to check out any minute but there had been no time to pack last night and she hadn't been able to focus on anything this morning other than her friends, Rachel, and being able to be there for those people whose house she had helped in a very small way to rebuild.

The mini fridge in the room was fully stocked with drinks and snacks and she put a considerable about of thought into drinking every drop of the door's top shelf; only one miniature bottle was missing from it. The other eleven bottles sat in place, neatly arranged. But she knew it wouldn't cause anything but harm, so she pushed that idea as far away as possible. Quinn had zipped up her case and lifted it from the bed when there was a loud banging at the door.

It wasn't Rachel, Quinn could tell that instantly. Rachel was always gentler than that, even when she was angry.

As she set her suitcase on its wheels she thought about how horrified the early high school sophomore version of herself would be to know that someday she would know ridiculous little things like that about Rachel, and the way she would be disappointed when it wasn't her.

On the way over to the door, Quinn wondered how her younger self would react to the news that she would kiss her someday, for a reason other than losing a bet. An aneurysm? Nosebleed? A misplaced blush on an otherwise icy exterior?

Speaking of nosebleeds...

She opened the door and narrowly missed being hit in the face with it as Santana barged inside without an invitation. Quinn's hand swept out in a gesture.

"Please, come in," she invited derisively.

Santana's face was set and she took in a breath to prepare for the verbal blows she wanted to get down to. But before any words came out, she stopped. She held up her hand instead, trying to control the amount of anger she allowed to seep into her tone and the way a slight tremble to her voice was detectable. "I'm trying not to be mad. Everyone else is in agreement that we can't be because you are an addict and you can't control yourself and you were in hell," she listed off. "And I get that, 'kay? But what the fuck?"

Quinn knew Santana was justified in asking, and was surprised that she'd been so controlled about it. Not without anger, but lacking the sting of Santana's previous blows. Quinn was thankful for it. She didn't have it in her to try to match it anymore.

"Why can't you just _stop_?" Santana asked, quieter, more gloomy. She knew why, she was just desperate. "Why is it so hard for you to admit to anyone that you're not Superwoman? If you weren't dealing, who gives a shit? Like that something to be ashamed of? I _know_ it's the hardest thing in the world for you right now, but there are other ways to help you. You just have to be willing first. And that's the main issue; that you don't really know how bad things are and how fast they can take an ugly turn. A turn that you can't ever come back from," Santana added.

"It's half," Quinn said meekly.

"Unless the drugs in your body are prescribed by a doctor, I don't give a shit what it is. You have to stop. Please. There's only so much supporting your friends can actually do when you don't meet them halfway." Quinn's mouth opened to counter that, but Santana wouldn't let her have it. "What?" she asked mockingly. "Does Quinn Fabray disagree here? Does she think she's making a sacrifice by using half? It's not a sacrifice until you're in agony, and even then, I'm not trying to be a bitch, but it's what you deserve for being so stupid to use in the first place."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Santana stared at her questioningly, wondering why Quinn wasn't letting herself be baited as easily as she once had. A small part of her hoped that Quinn truly did understand how quickly and drastically things needed to change, but previous and current actions heavily implied otherwise despite the look of unambiguous hurt that had been plastered to her face since this afternoon. Santana tried not to let it affect her, and she mostly succeeded.

Mostly, but not entirely.

She still managed to pull a frown to her head. "You have to ask for help," she said. "Ask, and it's there. Any of us. All of us. Whatever time of the night or day. There are only going to be so many chances, and I'm not just talking about your friends." There were only so many times Quinn's luck would last before a consequence of using would be irreparable.

That wasn't true of Quinn's friends —at least not any time soon— but they couldn't take it forever and Quinn needed to know that. It hurt too much. It was usually after when a person reflected on a bad time in their lives that they wonder just how they woke up and faced each day the way they did. At the time they soldier on and use up a seemingly endless supply of effort and energy only to find it unexpectedly empty sometime later. It's always somehow a failure on their part first.

Quinn's eyes threatened to fill and she blinked stubbornly to stave off another stream of tears, nodding sincerely. "Where's…" she cleared her throat a little. "Where's Rachel?"

"Downstairs with Hummel. I know they can fight like cat and dog, but they stick together like glue when things are rough. Kurt's hedging at your whereabouts aside, anyway. Well, all of ours. Can't shift all the blame to him."

"Why did you lie to her about me for so long?" Quinn wondered.

"Because it would have hurt her, and she would have wasted time trying to find you and we didn't think you deserved that from any of us, let alone Rachel. I know that seems harsh but you have to see it from our point of view. And it was an important time in her life and none of us thought she needed a blow like that, especially one from the past and who apparently didn't want anything to do with her anyway," Santana said frankly. "We thought you'd come back when you were ready, but then the months started to pass. And yeah, it was wrong. We sucked. But we had good intentions, you know? I'm not a total bitch. Berry was so busy at school and with work, discovering herself or whatever, and she was content with the little nuggets of information we'd all give her about you. We were planning on telling her when her album launched, so the high from that would hopefully cancel out the betrayal but then her Dad went and got sick and we couldn't say anything. It just spiralled, okay?"

Quinn knew all about that.

"I'm not a total bitch, either," came her softly-spoken declaration. She dragged her teeth over the plumpness of her bottom lip. "I know I was awful in the past, but I would never do anything just to hurt her. I really…"

At the sudden embarrassment written all over Quinn's face, for a reason Santana understood very well, she tried to lighten the mood somewhat. "Please. You weren't a bitch; you just wanted to be one. Being a bitch was my domain."

"I was still—"

"A little mean, yeah," Santana conceded. "But it's not like you incurred the wrath of Carrie with your ruthless ways. It was playground crap. Mostly. And you know Berry's got claws of her own and isn't clueless of how to use them. She wasn't exactly always the victim."

Quinn nodded to herself, her eyes focusing off to a random spot across the room where Santana imagined she was torturing herself with past or recent memories.

"Okay, I've kept my promise to Tina that I wouldn't rip your head off. Let's go before I break it," she continued, not exactly making any effort to sound threatening. "An entirely over-populated city awaits our arrival."

Quinn didn't look back at the room that held such awful memories from her short stay.

X

The airport was loud and crowded but it was almost a distraction and Rachel was grateful for it, though not half as thankful as she was to have her friends. The past three days hadn't gone anywhere close to as smoothly as she'd hoped for but her friends had been wonderfully supportive or willing to listen and learn, and they had been an incredible source of inspiration that she wouldn't forget despite the nosedive that last night took.

She held on for a while during her hug with Brittany. It was her last one, having already made her way around the group. "I'm so proud of you," Rachel said as she stepped back and pushed the strap of her bag further up her shoulder. "All of you. I love you guys so much. This trip has been…well, just a silly fantasy that I only allowed myself to indulge a couple of times since high school, but because of you guys it came to life and I'll never forget it."

None of them would.

When Rachel was in the middle of another extra tight embrace, Tina waited until Rachel began to pull away before she said, "I forgot to tell you, I put a gift in your bag. I probably should have said something before you checked your case in, but I forgot, I'm sorry. It's safe though, I promise."

Rachel was touched that Tina had brought her something and instantly wondered what it could be and what she could do for her in return. "You didn't have to do that," she said. "Thank you."

"Oh, it's not from me. Quinn just told me to tell you it was. She wanted to give you a permanent reminder of how you felt other night, how happy you were."

Before everything had gone to hell.

With all of the surprises lately, Rachel should be used to them by now. "Oh." She was even more curious now.

Kurt touched her arm. "It's not long till boarding, Rach."

Rachel said her goodbye's to her friends and walked away from them with only Kurt following at her side. Nobody was surprised by this. Nobody except for Quinn, who had returned from the bathroom to see the two of them standing out of earshot. She watched Kurt return a hug and a brief and platonic kiss to Rachel's mouth and then he headed back towards Blaine. Rachel, however, kept walking in the opposite direction.

"Where's she going?" Quinn asked. Nobody offered her an answer but she persisted after a moment. "Kurt."

"What, Quinn?"

"Where is Rachel going?"

In spite of being fired up because of recent events and the way that his best friend hurt so much because of the woman standing in front of him, Kurt saw no reason to be viciously cruel to her. It would only make things worse in the long run. "I'm not sure it's your business right now," he said gently, touching his hand to her shoulder when she looked like she was going to pass him. "Maybe you should give her some space."

Her friends bore witness to the way that Quinn bristled at the truth of that statement, hurt heating her face and making her steel her jaw in defence. Tina was the first one to speak up.

"I think Rachel needs it," she said apologetically. "It's best if—"

Quinn was already walking off in Rachel's direction.

She wasn't going to handcuff herself to Rachel, nor was she going to demand a lengthy conversation where they both got everything off their chests. Quinn understood that Rachel needed space and was in no hurry, herself, to hear another brutal truth. She just wanted to know why such an integral part of the group was missing and if none of her friends would tell her then she would go straight to the source. She walked quickly and weaved through some people milling about until she was close enough for her fingers to touch Rachel's elbow just as she'd lifted her phone to an ear.

Rachel cancelled the call that hadn't connected anyway, and lowered her arm, looking at Quinn with an air of impatience once she knew who it was. "What?"

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked softly.

"Home."

Her brows furrowed. "On a different plane? That's… You don't have to resort to a different _plane_ , Rachel. I don't have to be anywhere near you, if you don't want me to be."

Rachel only just kept in a biting remark that Quinn was standing right there talking to her. "Lima," she clarified, aware of how much that had thrown Quinn.

"When will you be back?"

Rachel shrugged, disinclined to extend the fact that she would be back in New York in a few days. She just needed some time with her Dads, needed their advice. "Quinn, I don't want to talk, okay? I don't have anything else to say to you right now." That was wildly untrue but it was too difficult. She was still so devastatingly angry and hurt that the words had poured from her mouth smoothly. She didn't have anything else to say that wouldn't hurt her, or make her refuse help again.

Quinn licked at her mouth and pushed her lips together as if it would discipline them back to looking less like they were about to quiver. Her head moved. "What about work? I know the album's recorded but you're still needed there."

"It's still my number one priority," Rachel stated.

"When will I see you?" Quinn tried again, and Rachel began to edge away after glancing down to her phone.

"I'm going to miss my flight."

"But you'll be by yourself."

Rachel knew what Quinn was getting at but she didn't care right now. She would probably end up crying incessantly on the plane, anyway. In fact, add a little turbulence in, she thought. Why not? "So?" she said evenly. "I'll be fine." Rachel really had to leave before their stilted conversation took an even worse nosedive. She turned and, in similar fashion to earlier that day, Quinn managed to grab hold of her fingers.

"Rachel, I'm so sorry," she insisted again, stepping forward once in her unwillingness to separate their hands. But Quinn didn't move any further than that and Rachel carried on towards the appropriate desk, leaving them to separate reluctantly several paces later.

X

Quinn thought it was strange, in a way, to be back home. It certainly didn't feel as if only three days had passed. So much had happened and she was so emotionally spent that it felt like she'd been away for a month or more. She'd gratefully accepted a ride back from the airport from Kurt, Blaine, and Finn without caring that they would know where she lived. She didn't have the energy to care anymore, and there was no way she could have thrown a ride back in Kurt's face after he'd offered one. Quinn could only imagine the things he'd found out about her last night.

She thanked him and stepped out of the car to accept her case from the driver when Finn's hand beat her to it, lifting it up on the sidewalk in front of her building. He didn't give her a pitying look at the rundown state of it; he simply waited for Quinn to lead the way and followed her inside. She had to caution him about the elevator and how taking the stairs was honestly the best option; if not for the smell or the weird people who occasionally occupied it, then because of its unreliability and the way she'd been stuck in there for hours on more than one instance.

The trip upstairs was a silent one, and it remained so until they reached her door and she had to deliver a not-at-all surprising kick to it in order for it to open. He thought she was pissed about something and she thought he was crazy for thinking she'd start trashing her apartment before they'd even got through the door.

He had a curious look on his face as he swept his eyes over her apartment for the first time.

"What?" she asked.

"It just seems really…you. You know, like on a budget and stuff, but still you."

Quinn was confused. "I don't know whether to thank you, or…" She watched a small smile play at his mouth.

"I like it. It's kinda homey."

Quinn accused him of having serious heatstroke and advised plenty of water and rest. Her friends had all talked to her on the plane about their feelings stemming from her admission that she was using again, so there hadn't been much left for Finn to say to her other than to remind her of the conversation and that he would talk to her tomorrow.

When he was back on the other side of the door, he also said, "She'll be back soon."

Quinn knew that, but she wasn't sure when Rachel would want to see her again. "I know."

"It's weird," he mused. "Not in a bad way, it's just there was a time when I thought you guys would never even be friends, let alone…" he stopped when he wasn't sure how to even finish that statement. "It's cool," Finn nodded. "I mean, for whatever it's worth, I think so. Or it would be if you changed one huge thing."

With the timing of the past few days, Quinn wasn't sure what she could have said to that. She ended up not saying anything until he said goodnight and was walking back down the hallway.

"Finn?"

He looked back. "I know; I'm giving you advice that isn't totally hypocritical. What's the world coming to?"

A hint of a smile appeared before she sobered again. "Thank you," was all she wanted to say.

X

It no longer really mattered how taxing a day had been for Quinn, if she didn't use shortly before getting into bed then it would be difficult, if not impossible, to do so. She went to a specific box in the closet and used enough powder to prepare one syringe and, as she meticulously cleaned her skin prior to use, it felt peculiarly like the last time she would do this.

It didn't have the same effect on her as it once had. Not because of the difference between the rush, but because it almost didn't feel like enough. It felt dirtier than ever as it was pumped through her veins.

She never slept much anyway, but she hated not being able to sleep when she was exhausted. Quinn tossed and turned for hours and only fell asleep long enough for the cup of tea beside her bed to turn lukewarm. She ended up on the couch with the blanket over her and watched a dated movie that was playing on TV until it eventually put her to sleep.

Six AM arrived slower than she'd hoped for but it was still with a weary sigh that she walked through the diner's door and shook off her jacket, returning a greeting to Georgina who was already on shift. Being on the wrong end of a twelve-hour shift was never a pleasant feeling but at least she would be busy all day.

And she was.

She hadn't been able to take her ten o'clock break because they were so busy.

When her day at work was finally over, Quinn decided to go home to take a quick shower and grab something to eat. With no contact from Rachel all day, it felt like old times again. She tried not to think too much because it drove her crazy to think of history repeating itself the knowledge that she had only ever had her heart broken by herself, and that the actions she'd taken lately were dangerously close to doing it again.

It disgusted her to think that there wasn't even anybody else to blame.

She was sitting on the kitchen counter eating noodles that she'd picked up from one of her favoured Chinese restaurants on the way home from work when her phone lit up, the ringtone barely audible over the music playing through her apartment. Her attention was reeled in instantly but when she saw that it wasn't Rachel or any of her friends, Quinn forwarded the call to voicemail and shoved her phone in the cutlery drawer. She was in no mood to deal with Francis tonight.

She was in no mood to deal with him, but she could definitely deal with seeing Jackson. She'd missed him terribly. He always knew what to do or say and his advice would no doubt prove as invaluable with Rachel. Quinn ate another few bites of dinner and hopped down to the floor, folding the lid down for the remaining noodles to go cold before she would finish them later.

X

She arrived at his building and made her way up the flights of stairs that produced a slight burn to her thighs, not slowing because of it. There was a party happening in one of the apartments two floors below Jackson; the rap music carrying even out in the stairwell two levels up.

Quinn knocked at Jackson's door and shifted her weight to the other foot as she waited. Her pulse spiked a little when she imagined him opening the door and the first question to come out of his mouth being "How was your trip?" with an excited inflection to his voice, as if the smile to his face and the sparkle to his eyes wouldn't be enough of a cue to the answer he expected.

Fortunately, she was given enough time for it to slow back down.

As ashamed as she was, she knew he would never judge her. He couldn't. They were too much alike. He had done too many awful things himself.

Quinn knocked again, hoping Jackson wasn't out of the house. She'd forgotten to grab her phone from the drawer in her haste to see him. After waiting another minute, Quinn stepped closer to the door.

"Jackson!" she called, thumping the side of her fist against the door. "Come on, open up. I have an ugly fridge magnet for your collection."

That should have been enough for the door to be pulled off its hinges. When no such thing occurred, Quinn accepted that he wasn't home and resigned herself to checking the two bars he frequented at. She'd made it down only one of the steps when she heard a door open.

"Hey."

She turned to see a young woman, perhaps twenty or so, peering out of her door, her red hair sort of resembling an untamed mane. "Hi?"

"Were you knocking next door?"

"Yeah," Quinn replied, wondering why it was a stranger's business until the thought of a young child asleep crossed her mind. She had been knocking pretty loudly, and she'd definitely raised her voice in order to be heard. "I didn't mean to wake the kids—"

"Oh, no, you didn't," the woman assured, opening the door wider to step outside of her apartment. "No kids."

Both of Quinn's brows rose. "Oh." She was confused enough to stand still for another moment.

"I'm… I'm so sorry to tell you, but the guy next door died yesterday."

Quinn heard the words clearly but they took some time to register. When they did, her eyes moved to the right of the woman where nothing but a brick wall was there. She felt the muscles to her face slacken and then freeze; giving all the attention to the one inside her chest that had slowed and picked up. She moved her head in dismissal but didn't think to speak.

The woman witnessed Quinn's precarious sway on the edge of the steps and reached out for her arm to steady her. "I'm really sorry," she said again. "I, uh, I think he was with some old guys from a bar at the time. I was heading out when they were all coming back pretty drunk, and when I got in yesterday morning the coroner was…"

Quinn sucked in breaths and blinked but her eyes wouldn't focus. Her chest felt like a swirling, weighted mass and she could hear the raggedness to her breaths even if the music from a couple of floors down wasn't registering. Most unfortunately, she could also still hear the strange woman in front of her, latched on to her arm, speaking.

"He wasn't alone."

Quinn moved her head again and finally remembered how to use her own voice, however unfamiliar it sounded. "He wouldn't…"

But he had, and she couldn't breathe.

"I mean, I don't—I don't know what happened totally," the woman admitted as gently as she could, believing it was best to tell her neighbour's friend the truth. "But some people from the floor, they… think it was an overdose." It was inarguably the right thing to do, however, it failed to stop her feeling terrible, especially when the blonde woman in front of her seemed to be slipping out of shock and it was written all over her face. "Do you want to come inside for some water? You should sit down… I could call someone for you."

Quinn couldn't process the offer. She could barely think at all.

All she could do was turn her back and stumble down the stairs, getting as far away as possible as quickly as she could. She walked briskly until it felt like pieces of herself were falling away, and then she ran.

Her journey home had been on auto-pilot, and although she was tear-stricken, it was only when she'd frantically kicked her foot to her door and slammed it back shut that her hands released the tight grip of her keys and purse. As they dropped to the floor, the sobs truly began.

It was curious how the human body perceived grief so physically yet it also remained, in part, a surreal, out-of-body experience.

Quinn's hands shook when she raised them to each side of her head, squeezing her fingers against her scalp as the room began to spin because of the deep, relentless way in which the sobs wracked through her body and how she couldn't stop long enough for her lungs to stop feeling like they were about to explode.

She made a wild attempt to deny that the last thirty minutes had ever happened but the words felt weak even inside her own head, and there was so much _pain_ centralised to her chest that she had forgotten how it felt since the last time she'd cried like that —eight years ago. Quinn gulped in some air and the light-headedness eased off for several seconds; enough time for her to stumble forward to the kitchen and pull open a drawer with the new knowledge that the unsteady tremors were not restricted to her hands but had spread throughout her body.

_Rachel._

Quinn's fingers were useless at first: too heavy and useless at pressing the correct keys to bring up Rachel's number. But when she did and she could hear it ringing, it was like she'd kicked hard enough to just push her head above water.

Several seconds later, the dial tone cut off abruptly and Quinn's call was forwarded to voicemail.

She'd been above the surface and now she was back beneath it, pulled down into deep, murky depths. Quinn wasn't in any sort of mind to consider why Rachel had declined her call and her phone clattered down against the counter, sliding across to knock against a Chinese take-out box and then she was closing her eyes.

"Don't," she begged quietly. "Don't."

But it was so quiet and she was so alone with a crippling, consuming pain and she couldn't prevent her legs from moving her forward to the bedroom where she was able to prepare something to ease it.

She knew it wouldn't take away all of the pain as soon as the needle clumsily pierced her skin and she felt the familiar tingles beginning in her scalp, sending an, as of yet, unmatched warmth throughout her body. It wouldn't take away all of it, but it was enough that she didn't feel as if she was going to hyperventilate into unconsciousness anymore. Her cries slowed and quietened some as she slumped back on the bed but they would not stop.

Quinn lay there for a long time, at times thinking of nothing at all, and others where her mind could barely keep up with the thoughts whizzing through it. She stayed there long enough for the tears to stop and dry against her face, making it feel stiff. She stayed there long enough for her chest to seize and eyes to fill again.

Quinn stayed there long enough to know that she was going to use again to truly make it stop.

She climbed off the bed and retraced habituated steps to the kitchen to pick up her phone, her fingers slightly more co-ordinated than before as she dialled a different but familiar number, breathing a sigh of relief when her call was answered this time.

"It's me," she opened with, her voice unsteady. "I need you. Will you—will you come over? Please?"


	17. The Great Escape

The flight wasn't fine.

There wasn't even a small amount of turbulence for Rachel to be concerned over but instead was a couple of hours where she was heartbroken and confused while being stuck around strangers, where there was so much she had to talk about and think about that she scarcely knew where to begin.

As it turned out, answers to her parents' plentiful questions didn't pour from her mouth after arriving at their house. She was tired. She was so unbelievably exhausted that all she wanted to was sit in between them on the couch with a blanket and an old musical on the TV while she fell asleep.

Rachel couldn't avoid their questions forever. Hiram and Leroy didn't get through breakfast the next morning without discovering the truth and reaching to comfort their daughter. For the rest of the day they didn't talk about anything other than what events had led Rachel to the airport over the past couple of months.

As parents, they were concerned.

They grew less concerned with Quinn the more questions Rachel answered in depth, and more concerned about her. Something that didn't help was Rachel's attention being pulled to her phone when they were trying to do what she obviously came to them for: help.

"Baby, don't answer that, we're talking," Hiram said gently. "Kurt can wait a little while."

Rachel looked at the caller ID and her chest grew tight all of a sudden. "It's Quinn."

"Do you think she's calling to apologise?"

She nodded, her thumb hovering over the screen to accept the call.

"Will an apology fix anything?" Leroy asked.

Right now, no, it wouldn't.

It was difficult, but Rachel declined it. She felt awful for doing so. A few moments later she noticed her Dad talking to her but she hadn't taken any of it in and the look on her face told him so. He stopped, and she said, "I'm sorry, give me a second."

Hiram was worried about the fast press of Rachel's thumbs as she composed a message. "Rachel, I know you're upset but you have to think about what you say before you talk to Quinn. That's how you have to approach the situation you willingly walked into."

"I'm texting Finn. He can check on her." Almost as soon as she was finished, a new incoming call from Quinn came through on her phone. Rachel was concerned as she always was for Quinn, and she was no longer so angry at her after talking about it all day but she also knew it wasn't the right time to talk yet. She hated to think of Quinn alone, so she asked Finn to go over. Rachel knew Quinn would talk to him. Switching her phone off made her swallow guiltily and she switched it back on after a few minutes in case Finn called.

She would call Quinn in a couple of hours when she went to bed. Maybe not to have the talk they needed to have, but to hear her voice and to explain and tell her that she was still there.

A little while later and her parents were still firing questions and opinions at her. Hiram was trying to be supportive to her choices.

"As much as you want and do try to help Quinn, you can't be the most important thing in her life. That's heroin. If at any point you feel like you're being used or taken advantage of, there's no shame in stepping back to work on yourself. That isn't being selfish, it's being smart."

"I know that, but I can't help but feel guilty for backing away for a couple of days," Rachel admitted. "And it's not just that, it's the fact that... my ability to help her and assess the situation objectively has been thrown out the window, if it was even there to begin with. I need a little quality time with my Dads to get things straight in my head again, that's all."

"What things?" Hiram asked.

In the face of silence, Leroy decided to speak up. "You're obviously very close to her. And we know you're not a teenager anymore, Rachel, we know that some of your friendships and relationships in college taught you the hard way how to learn to put yourself first. You did the right thing in leaving and coming home. We're proud of you for sticking by someone who has to fight very hard to overcome whatever demons she may have, just the same way we're proud of you for recognising signs to take a step back. Supporting someone with anything in life doesn't mean you have to be a doormat for any kind of behaviour you're uncomfortable with. The only thing I'm really wondering is, why are you here? I know you've always been sensitive and that Quinn is close to you again —closer than that summer I considered asking her for rent she was here that often. But all of your shared friends, have any of them reacted like this?"

Hiram's eyes hardened towards Leroy for a second when he saw Rachel's shake of the head and had to wipe away streak of additional tears on his daughter's cheek. It may not have been a pain free question but it was necessary and he knew that.

"Everyone loves Quinn," Rachel said. She swallowed and added, "We've all made mistakes— we're still doing it sometimes. Nobody makes excuses for her or anyone else who is being an idiot, myself included, but... but we move on because all of us want to learn to be better; whatever way that is depends on who you're talking to. A-and Quinn's been hurt by them the way they've been hurt by her, but no, to my knowledge they haven't had a talk like this with their parents. That doesn't mean they're not friends. There's still so much love and support there."

"And we think that's good," Hiram voiced. "Don't we, Leroy?"

Leroy recognised that tone. "We do," he confirmed. "But if Quinn is a friend to you in return—"

"She's not," Rachel denied. It came out of her mouth like it had wanted to burst free for some time now. "I mean, she is, but—"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"Baby, what we're asking is... after everything that's happened, are you in love with her?" Hiram asked cautiously.

Rachel went quiet, then there were fresh tears springing to her eyes. She looked to her hands and tightened her mouth, making her cheeks dimple for a moment. Six words had her heart both racing and hurting and she deeply resented the constricted sensation of her chest from a simple question.

"Rachel," Leroy prompted, and she looked up to him smoothly.

"Yes."

"Okay," he replied gently, after a moment. "Okay." He watched her brows furrow almost immediately after.

"Dad..."

"What?"

"Don't use that tone," Rachel said as Hiram sat on the chair to the other side of her and put his hand on her arm. "I already know what you're thinking."

Both of her fathers may have made a teasing comment about her sixth sense if the circumstances were different. Leroy opened his mouth to speak but Hiram decided he would take this one. "So, you know we're not judging. People may act superior but the truth is that we all have our demons and our own ways of dealing with them; some, admittedly, healthier than others. And we think it's great that, despite her problems, Quinn has trusted you enough to show you a part of herself that you feel so strongly for, we do. It's just... sweetheart, a relationship with an addict—"

"Will never work," Rachel finished tearfully but strongly. "I know that. As...attracted to her as I am, and however much I want all of her, I don't— I don't want to be in a relationship yet, not when she can't be present the way I need her to be. I want to be with her when she can handle it, when she's getting better. That's when I would want to try; when she is. That's the only way it would ever work. She tried on the trip but she failed and it's like this knife in my chest because I want this for her so much, but it doesn't matter. What any of us want doesn't matter. Or if it does, it doesn't matter enough. She's the one who has to want it and ultimately follow through with it. And I can't help but think that it's going to take something really terrible to snap her out of it; something that has equal power to send her further down the hole she's stuck in."

Rachel's parents knew how smart their daughter was but they also knew how impulsive she could be and were relieved that she had the sense not to dive headfirst into dangerous waters such as those. Leroy brought the small hand he was holding to his mouth, pressing a supportive kiss to the knuckles.

"How does she feel about you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"As things stand, it may not be the most important thing," Hiram allowed, "but it is important."

Rachel considered the question carefully. "I know she has feelings for me, and I know she isn't capable of the kind of love that I would want and need, and even deserve yet. She says— she says I look at her a certain way, a way that made it clear that an advance would be welcomed, but if you guys saw the way she looks at me..." Rachel collected herself. "She has feelings for me. A-and maybe she cares and loves me the only way she can right now, but whatever she feels dies out long enough for every hit or every repeated bad choice. There's no silver lining to that."

There was nothing Hiram could say to counter that. His head was spinning after hearing the events of the past couple of months and couldn't imagine having an emotional tether to an already difficult situation. He glanced to Leroy, both wearing the same expressions of concern.

Rachel ran her hand through her hair and moved the other out from underneath her Dad's to reach across the table where she'd been looking for the past couple of seconds, pulling something close to hold it. "I don't need you to say anything else. I don't expect you to fix everything. Obviously I have a lot on my plate; I just needed to share some of it. And right now, I need to think what the best move is."

Whatever it was, Leroy didn't think it was looking at a tube of sand. Before he opened his mouth he looked to Hiram and received a slight nod. "We're still here for you, Rachel. And if we know you at all, we know you'll think a little too hard on what is a difficult but simple question: can you still be there for Quinn even if she can't love you the same way right now?"

X

Forty minutes had passed by the time there was a knock at the front door.

Quinn wiped her face in a hurry and rose to her feet, leaving the bathroom she'd locked herself in since ending the call. The journey through her apartment was one made in haste and she pulled the front door open harshly to avoid it sticking the way it did whenever she tried to get into her apartment. If she was relieved to see him standing there, the desperation clawing at her insides overwhelmed it in almost no time at all.

Kurt's face had been awash with concern when he'd answered Quinn's call. Seeing her in the flesh magnified it. "Sweetie…" He stepped forward to embrace her when Mercedes charged past him and threw her arms around Quinn.

Finn walked inside behind Kurt and looked around suspiciously, as if he would find whoever was responsible for the way Quinn had an equally tight hold of Mercedes and was crying —not for the first time that day if her face was anything to go by. Regrettably, it was just the four of them in the apartment.

He wondered, for a brief moment, if it was Rachel.

Rachel had sent him a text asking him to check on Quinn, and when he called Mercedes to ask if she would go with him she was already in the car with Kurt. They picked him up and pushed the speed limit to get there. Somehow, even despite knowing how hurt and at a loss Rachel was right now, he doubted she was capable of being malicious enough to turn Quinn into such a wreck.

"Shhh, it's all right," Mercedes soothed after a long moment, putting her hand at the back of Quinn's head. "Tell us what happened."

"What can we do?" Kurt added.

The skin between Quinn's brows was bunched as she pulled away from Mercedes and tried to stop crying, but she couldn't stop. Her hands were shaking again and her friends must have noticed because Mercedes brushed some of her unruly hair from her eyes and Kurt rubbed a comforting hand over her back as he waited patiently for her prompt.

"Just— take it." Quinn's voice wavered.

Finn was ready to spring into action. "Take what?"

"Everything. All of my…stuff. It's in my room, but I… I hide it. It's in the closet, and in my nightstand. Some CD's under my bed —old ones, there are pills in some of them. Like, uh, like emergency stuff. Just get it away from me. Flush it, I don't care. I just need it away from me. If I see it, I'll take it. All of it."

If she was around any of it anymore, she knew she'd end up in the ground. God, even just once more and she could really be gone. Just like that. Jackson wasn't an idiot, either. Not in the sense of not knowing his limits. Even that wasn't enough.

Finn was the first one of them to make a beeline towards the bedroom.

Mercedes cut her eyes to Kurt and he nodded. She followed the same path as Finn.

"Is it about Rachel?" he prodded cautiously. His concern made her feel like she'd swallowed a brick. "Talk to me, come on. I'm capable of impartial advice, I promise."

Quinn shook her head and it felt weighted and heavy. "Jackson's dead," she finally said out loud, her face hurting like the declaration was a blade coming from her mouth.

Kurt was naturally alarmed at the mention of death. "Who, sweetie?"

She couldn't explain to him that Jackson had been her best friend since the third week she moved to New York, that for years he'd been the one person she'd felt truly safe with and trusted above anyone and everyone else, or that he could offer her advice on pretty much anything and she'd always be better off for it. She couldn't explain that in spite of some bad choices and bad fights between them, times they were both in the wrong for mistakes they had made, Jackson never once looked at her any differently or held it against her. Quinn couldn't tell Kurt that she'd _loved_ Jackson. In some ways, she'd thought of him as a father as much as she thought of him as her best friend.

She trekked to the kitchen and pulled a glass out of the cupboard. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the closest bottle —scotch— and she unscrewed it quickly, tipping it up to spill out in glugs. A mouthful at the least was spilled over the side in an uncoordinated flick of her wrist before her left hand wrapped around the glass and raised it to her lips, downing the liquid in two large gulps. A drop spilled out from the corner of her lips and she wiped it away with the back of her wrist as the alcohol burned a path from her throat to her stomach.

"Quinn…" Kurt had followed her.

"I can't," she muttered. "Not yet."

"Rachel says you keep a lot of things to yourself. Do you really think that's best now? I can see how much pain you're in."

Quinn braced herself against feelings that the alcohol hadn't squashed yet and tightened her mouth as she turned around. "He's dead," she declared shortly. "What do you want me to say? Do you want to take a bet on his autopsy report?"

She'd win. Kurt would probably take a guess to who Jackson was and why she was so upset and say overdose, Quinn would say either respiratory failure or asphyxiation from the vomit there was a good chance he would have produced. She could hear the sounds.

"I want you to say exactly how you're feeling."

She despised the way that pain had survived the generous measure of alcohol and crawled up her throat to spread across the roof of her mouth. "I can't," she whispered, because it kept hitting her over and over again and it didn't get any easier. A realisation struck her and she shook her head, heading right past Kurt who stood in front of her in the kitchen. Quinn didn't stop until he called out her name.

"What are you doing?"

"Going. I have to. I can't do this… Just— let yourselves out. I can't stay here." She picked up her keys and purse that had been hazardously dropped to the floor earlier. When she pushed back to her feet, Kurt's hand was on her arm.

"Let us help you."

"I did," Quinn replied as her room was being searched. "And thank you, all of you, but I need to go." Her shoulders tightened and she visibly shrunk away from his touch. In doing so, she caught sight of Finn heading towards the bathroom with one of his hands closed into a fist.

"Where are you going?" she heard Finn say as she turned to the door and pulled it open. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other to widen their distance between each other but Finn's legs were longer and he caught up quickly. He grasped her hand. "Hey."

Kurt was coming up behind him, a little more cautious than his brother. "Quinn," he pleaded.

Quinn still didn't want to be touched, so she rectified that immediately as she spun around. " _Don't_ touch me." Her jaw tensed as she tried to keep her eyes away from his closed fist. It was so close. If he was distracted for a second and she was quick enough, she thought she could probably take whatever was in his palm. Quinn backed away and sent Kurt a pleading look before she was heading away again in an attempt to have a shred of control over how things had turned out.

When Finn persisted forward, Kurt called him down.

"What are you doing?" Finn's eyebrows knitted together. "She needs us. We can't let her leave."

"Yeah, she does," Kurt agreed, having a new understanding after being on the receiving end of an imploring gaze from Quinn Fabray. "But we've played our part today, and I don't think it would benefit her to be caged up in this hell hole."

Finn wanted a good reason why he shouldn't be chasing after his friend and Kurt wasn't exactly giving him enough of a reason not to. "So, what, we leave her to run off to her dealer at night?"

"Finn, why would she call us here to flush her stuff if she was going to use, anyway?"

Finn's eyebrows furrowed again. "I don't know, but—"

"She's not going to her dealer."

"She shouldn't be out there by herself. What if something happened?"

Kurt remained objective. That had occurred to him at first, as well. "Quinn doesn't need a bodyguard. Maybe the girl who used to wear the babydoll dresses could have used one to walk these streets, but not this Quinn. She's adapted. Street smart. If anything, I would expect her to protect _us_."

"So, what, we just leave her? Is that what you're saying?" Finn asked disdainfully. "How are you so calm, man? Did you see her? She didn't even look half as bad as that when her Dad kicked her out."

Kurt stuck his hand in his pocket for his phone, affording his brother a brief, strained smile. "Years of experience on the stage and in front of a camera," he explained. "I'm worried, too, but she needs this, Finn. Let her breathe, she'll come back."

"We can't leave her alone," Finn disagreed.

"For more than a few hours, no, we can't. But like I said, we've played our part today. Get back in there and help Mercedes clean the room, okay? That's the best thing you can do for her."

Finn looked confused when Kurt began to tap around on his phone and put it up to his ear. "What are you doing?"

"Calling the best reinforcement I know." Appeased by that, Finn went back inside the apartment and Kurt stayed out in the hallway, paying no mind to the couple he could hear arguing a few doors down. He scoffed when the steady ringing cut off abruptly to be replaced with Rachel's voicemail message. "Oh, no you don't," he muttered, undeterred. The next time he tried it didn't even ring first. Rachel had switched her phone off. He decided to stay on the line until after the tone had sounded. "Rachel, you should get back as soon as you can. It's Quinn," he said sombrely, knowing it was a little cruel but pausing dramatically. "I know she screwed up majorly and you have every right to be mad at her, I just don't know that any of us are a good enough substitute for you right now. She called me earlier and she sounded... it was enough to worry me. Some of us came over and she said Jackson is dead? Somehow I don't think it's a severely delayed reaction about the King of Pop. She doesn't need us right now, she needs you. Get here or call her, or both. Please."

X

Quinn had done a lot of things over the years to dull her perception on the harshness life could offer, things she wasn't proud of and tried not to think of too often, and she did the same now as she sat in a hole-in-the-wall bar, desperately trying to create the same results with alcohol but it proved ineffective. She didn't feel inebriated but she couldn't feel the heat of the scotch anymore, she realised, as she held it in her mouth and the back of her throat before swallowing. The loud music and chatter didn't fade to the background, either. She could hear it all. Each time she closed her eyes she could see Jackson's face, so she took larger gulps despite his advice that scotch was best enjoyed slowly, savouring each sip.

Since arriving, the bartender and two patrons had asked her if she was all right. Quinn hadn't answered them because it was glaringly obvious that no, she was not okay and she couldn't begin to talk about it. Every time she got an itch on her face her fingers would come away wet. Unless it was raining on her face, her eyes stubbornly refused to stop producing tears.

She wanted to be drunk.

She wanted to be so gone that she wouldn't remember how to hold her head up. She wanted all of it to be over.

Unfortunately for her, it didn't work out that way. The reliably dangerous mix of drugs and alcohol had barely taken the edge off. She felt isolated but exposed, making for a curious sensation. Present but detached. Uncomfortably numb.

Tired of the noise in there, Quinn slid down off a stool without checking to see if it was clear and walked straight into the path of a woman who was swiftly making her way across the bar. They collided so harshly that Quinn rebounded back a step and she instinctively grabbed onto the woman's forearm to prevent herself from falling when her foot landed on a piece of ice that had recently been dropped from someone's drink. A glass smashed against the floor.

The other woman, dirty blonde hair, a few years older, was not in a good mood. She'd been deterred from finding out if her man of three weeks was cheating on her and now there was vodka cranberry dripping off her dress and she was no closer to finding out if Bradley was her Prince Charming or just a loser she needed to drop like a hot plate. She flung Quinn's hand off of her arm and glared.

"Are you fucking blind, or what?"

Quinn cut her eyes to the smoky blue ones staring back at her. "I should be asking you the same question."

The woman peeled her dress away from her torso and her mouth tightened in annoyance. "Do you know how hard it's going to be to get this shit out?"

"Who cares?" Quinn drawled loudly and candidly. Who cared about a piece of material when her best friend was dead?

"It's my favourite dress!" the woman roared.

Quinn's hand fished around in her pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. She searched around and held one out. It was a dollar bill. "Get a new one. Keep the change."

The next thing Quinn knew, her chest hurt and she was on the floor, landing heavily and against people's legs. They moved away from her and Quinn laughed at the fuming expression on the woman's face, standing there prepared for another confrontation. The other woman was taller than Quinn, had probably thirty-five pounds on her. There wasn't much doubt in Quinn's mind that she would have her ass handed to her in a fight. She imagined that she got up from the floor and provoked the woman until she lashed out again, that time to the face. Quinn imagined retaliating until it became a full-on brawl and they were either ejected from the bar or the EMTs were called.

She wanted that.

A wild, reckless part of Quinn needed to project and a confrontational woman at a bar was the perfect training dummy. There was such a fierce need to lash out that her heart had begun to quicken and she felt her blood pressure rocket as she got to her feet.

The woman snatched a bottle of beer out of someone's hand and there was a cried protest from its owner before she walked forward. "Let me return the favour, honey," she intoned, and lifted her arm, pouring some of the contents over Quinn.

Amber liquid was poured from Quinn's shoulders and spread quickly down the front of her top and the length of her left arm until she felt it dripping from her hand. Her hand darted up for the bottle and managed to turn it away from her body to empty and splash against the floor instead. And then she wrenched it free, gripping it tightly around the neck.

It was solid in her hand.

It was also the stupidest thing she could have done. A tiny, rational part of Quinn knew how dangerous it was for her to have a _weapon_ in her current state of mind, and her cutting gaze softened some in fear.

The woman's focus was grabbed by something behind Quinn —Bradley was making out with another woman— and her face twisted into fury far beyond her little spat with a pretty blonde. Still, it didn't stop her from shouldering past Quinn on her march over to Bradley, who was about to have his balls kicked so hard he would feel it for a week.

Quinn was sent backwards several steps and she felt her face flush. Teeth grinding, she closed her eyes. She saw Jackson. And suddenly, she was recalling their last conversation and the last piece of advice he would ever give her.

In the end, she didn't have to be brutal to herself; all she had to do was hear him tell her that violence wasn't an option and her grip eventually slackened for the bottle to bounce against the floor. At least, this time it was all that it took. Worse than all that rage building up so rapidly in the first place was how strongly a fresh wave of despair swept over her. Her eyes stung again.

She moved past throngs of people to make her way outside, having to brush against people who were crowding doorways or her path out of there, and then she could breathe easier. Not a great amount, but it was better than nothing. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and continued on up the street with no immediate destination in mind. There must have been a costume party nearby because there was a large group of people dressed as various cartoon or comic book heroes heading towards her. Costume parties and holidays like Halloween had long lost their appeal to Quinn. She didn't see why people got so excited to be somebody else for a night when she'd been somebody else for over a decade. She'd worn a mask for years and had experienced the thrill of power that instilling fear offered. It got dull eventually. After long enough, people stop seeing all of the ways you're terrifying and begin to see all of the ways that you're not.

People were afraid of her now, for different reasons.

Considering it, back in school she had plenty on the inside. She was bruised but she could still be soft and pliable. She didn't think there wasn't much left anymore. Now she might as well be set upon a windowsill, ablaze from the inside.

Quinn couldn't be stuck at home but she couldn't trust herself in another bar while she felt like this, so she simply treaded forward and wouldn't stop until she felt like she could sleep in the middle of the road.

X

Rachel had been sat at the kitchen table with a drained bottle of water and damp tissues when she got another call from Kurt. He'd called several times during the day and she explained just a few hours ago that she was going to use the rest of the night to really consider the best move, so she didn't feel guilty when she forwarded his call to voicemail, nor when he rang again and she switched her phone off. Rachel put it back on almost right after, but the message was clear. And if it was important, he would know to leave a voicemail.

She held the tube in her hand, tucked safely inside her palm.

As if it wasn't awful enough to arrive home last and have to go into her old bedroom to change for bed, attacked with all of the memories where she first got a glimpse to who Quinn Fabray really was, she had to go and open her small suitcase and find a sunglasses case that she recognised to be Tina's. And then she had to let curiosity get the better of her and ruin her progress of not crying for close to an hour when she opened it to reveal a sample of sand without any tacky print down the side of the tube or bottle. The following few minutes were spent clutching the tube, tearfully and imploringly closing her eyes to beg that she and Quinn would both get to the other side of this.

She had been talking and thinking about what came next all day —even picking her way through her dinner of a homemade pasta dish that just made Rachel think about Quinn. Her fathers didn't try for subtlety whenever they traded concerned gazes over the course of the day and nor did they condone or sugar coat their feelings on the matter as a whole. Rachel was their baby girl and, despite her age, would always be, there was no way they would allow her to be taken advantage of and used. And they would never sit back and allow her to put so much of her time and effort into a relationship if they thought it was a lost cause, not without firmly expressing their opinions on the matter beforehand. From what they'd heard, they didn't think either was truly the case.

Ultimately any decision Rachel made in her life was her own to make, but a healthy dose of parental concern was always thrown in. It had to be.

When her parents were on the other side of the kitchen to make a fresh batch of coffee and to replace her bottle of water, that's when Rachel decided to listen to the voicemail waiting for her, under the impression that her best friend's voice would bring some comfort.

She couldn't have been more wrong about that.

There was no time to pack up the few things she'd unpacked since arriving. A swift tightness to her chest robbed her of her ability to form a sentence for a moment, and it wasn't much more intelligible when she was able to force a command out on her way to the car. Her fathers caught a few words. Dads. Car. Airport. Hurry.

They got a slightly more in-depth response after the shock had worn off and they were both concerned, as well. Rachel apologised for running out on them but it was _Quinn_ and this was always going to be her tipping point. She just didn't want it to be the wrong way. She couldn't stand by and watch that happen, not without trying her best.

X

Rachel had run the flights of stairs up to Quinn's apartment, even speeding past Finn who had met her outside. She'd had questions, and while she had presented the same ones to Kurt as she'd been pacing up and down while waiting for a flight back in Ohio, Finn didn't seem able to answer them properly. She'd gone a little more frantic when she got inside the apartment. Kurt always looked somewhat alarmed when she bombarded him with questions but he remained calm which is what set Rachel off even further. However dramatic he could be, Kurt was always calm in a crisis. Her questions were no closer to being answered after interrogating him in person. She didn't know where Quinn was, who she'd gone to meet, or when she was coming back. And to top it off, Kurt had found Quinn's cell phone in the kitchen during Rachel's fourth attempt to call her when she'd been on her way to the airport.

She wanted to go out and look for her.

As fearless as she felt towards potential muggers and any of the other human monsters lurking around, her friends did not possess the same courage and forbade her to leave the apartment; they even offered to stay and wait with her. She loved them for it but declined, and they left after she'd rolled her eyes and put her palm over her heart, pledging to not step a foot outside of the apartment unless it was on fire or she'd seen Quinn.

It was late by then but Rachel was wired, sat on the couch listening for any sign that someone was walking up the hallway. It was quiet for a long time; over an hour, and between giving in to an urge to pee and washing her hands, there was a knock at the door. Rachel's heart leapt at the sound until she realised how unlikely it was for Quinn to knock on her own front door.

It wasn't the typical time for visitors and curiosity more than anything was what guided her feet over to the door. She rose up on her toes to peer through the peephole.

Francis.

His image was distorted, making him look further away than just the other side of the door. Rachel tried her very best to glare at him and hoped he could feel the animosity. Francis couldn't, of course, but he could tell something was untoward with Quinn. She hadn't answered his calls all week and he'd heard about one of his regulars passing by word of mouth earlier in the day.

He knocked again.

It was such a bad idea. She shouldn't do it. Rachel lowered back down on her feet and leaned against the door, debating.

Or, doing what she considered to be debating when she felt seconds pass like minutes and realised that if Francis were to leave, she would never be able to forget the moment she stood idly by without opening her mouth. Regular Rachel Berry wasn't known for holding her tongue. Rachel simply stalled for time and then looked back out to see Francis turn to leave. She pulled open the door and held the side of it in her hand as she watched him face her with what looked suspiciously like surprise rushing over his face.

Rachel hadn't exactly gotten a proper view of Francis at the party he'd followed her and Quinn from, but that wasn't an issue anymore. He was as attractive as she remembered him to be: all six-foot-one of him, a charming smile taking residence upon his mouth, and all Rachel could think of was the first —and only, really— time they met and that he'd fucked Quinn. She thought of how she knew it was him who told Quinn that opening her legs was the only way to show she was sorry.

She wanted to slap the smile right off his face. Rachel settled for a fixed stare. "Yeah?"

"Hi, love. Is Quinn home?"

"No," she replied steadily.

Francis ducked his head. "Okay. Well, could you let her know Francis stopped by? I'd really appreciate it."

There was barely a second's pause. "No, I don't think I'll be doing that."

He studied her for a moment, long enough to conclude that he'd forgotten her name since their initial meeting. "I'm terrible with names, and I'm embarrassed to admit this but I can't remember—"

"Rachel."

"Rachel," Francis echoed closely in satisfaction. "Of course. May I come in, Rachel?"

Logically, she knew it was a bad idea. However, any rationality she may have been able to cling on to slipped the more she thought of how and why things were in so many pieces. Rachel pushed the door open and let her arm fall slack by her side as he passed her on the way inside. She closed the door and followed him, stopping several feet away as he surveyed the living and kitchen area for any sign of Quinn. His interest irritated her and the expression she wore made it no secret that he was unwelcome there.

Francis faced Rachel again to find brown eyes fixed to him. "I was just wondering, Rachel, why you won't pass along a message for me?"

"Because I know what you do, and I think you're disgusting," she admitted freely and openly. He was a contemptible man and she wouldn't feel badly for an honest opinion of a person who never considered anybody else. "I think you're dangerous and untrustworthy, and I don't feel comfortable with Quinn being anywhere near you. So no, I won't be telling her that you stopped by and you won't be coming back here, am I clear?"

The confidence in the short woman's voice made her seem a lot taller than she was. Francis was impressed. On the other hand, he wasn't sure what business it was of hers what Quinn did and who she did it with. "Am I mistaken, or does Quinn have a mind of her own?"

"You are," Rachel stated. "Because of you, Quinn barely has a mind of her own. It's because of you she's like this." She knew Quinn had consented to drug use but it hadn't been a sober decision, and she hadn't been aware of the name of the substance. Quinn had been stupid enough to use in the first place but Francis introduced her to the world of hard drugs. Whichever way she looked at it, as far as Rachel was concerned, he was the initial perpetrator.

"I've never forced Quinn to do anything she wasn't willing to do," Francis said.

"Save it," Rachel sneered. "You preyed on her. You prey on and exploit each and every one of your customers. Do you think they're stable people? Do you think you're doing anything but murdering them?"

"You're coming across incredibly naïve, Rachel. I don't know if you know that."

"You poison people," she continued, knowing they were both correct.

Francis observed the way her mouth turned at her contempt for him. He was about to dismiss her foolish notion when he realised where he'd seen her before and her full name finally came to him. His gaze turned curious as the wheels turned. "Rachel Berry." His eyes brightened with recognition at long last. "I know you."

Rachel huffed out a breath. "I can assure you, you don't."

"No, you're the singer." He watched her face harden again. "My little nieces back home in Ireland are obsessed with you," he shared, smug now that he knew who he was dealing with. "Quinn was holding out on me. I never knew she had so much money at her disposal."

"Quinn has never asked me for money."

"Well, let's be honest, she's not the sharpest tool in the shed. A vision? Sure. But not particularly bright."

"That proves how little you know about her. Quinn's smart. Ivy league college smart. She just went down the wrong path."

Francis smiled. "No."

"Yeah," Rachel shrugged. "And part of you knows that, that's why you're here looking for her. But she's woken up to you; she's moved on to better things. You won't call again because you have plenty of other people to take money from. You don't need Quinn and Quinn definitely doesn't need you." Rachel's plucky declaration was concluded by brushing her hair away from her face. Francis was drawn to the action.

For a moment, he almost saw her dressed in Quinn's leather jacket. The visual remained blurry. "Turn around."

"Excuse me?"

Francis moved a finger in gesture. "Turn around," he repeated. Rachel remained rooted to the spot, stubbornly refusing to give in to his request. It didn't matter, though. The idea had already sprung to mind. "You're the woman from that night, aren't you?" he said suspiciously. The hair and height. The shape of her body. Seeking an unyielding truth, he put his hands on Rachel and spun her around, holding her at arm's length as his eyes raked over her body. It was her. Unmistakeably. She was the reason why everything was different now. Rachel struggled against him, nearly managing to pull her arms free until his body pressed forward, trapping her against the closest wall. "You're why she's different now," he accused, anger flaring through him for just a moment until he got a handle on it. She would not have that control over him.

Rachel didn't give him the satisfaction of crying out at the pressure against her arms, and she stopped struggling for a moment, breathing harder. "So are you."

Francis leaned closer so that she could feel his breath against her ear.

"You know, doesn't matter how much you want it to happen, Quinn's never going to get me out of her system, Rachel. I'm always going to be here. She's always going to need me."

"You're wrong," Rachel disagreed. "She needs friends —real people in her life who love her unconditionally. Independence. Quinn needs to take back the control she lost the moment drugs were in her system. She needs excitement and spontaneity, and to know that she's not trapped anymore; she has options and she can have her life back."

Francis laughed, low and rumbling in her ear, and then he stepped away from her, giving her space to turn around. "You think a little spontaneity is going to cure our Quinn?"

"She's not yours. And no, I don't. See, I'm not stupid enough to think that she needs one thing or one person. Quinn has a good support system right now and I know how much that means to her. That's… that's something you can't take away from her. We're not going anywhere, either. You're outnumbered."

"I'm quakin' in me boots," Francis said. "No, really… I'm a little nervous. Is it a big gang?" His smile made her teeth set. "Rachel Berry, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, okay? Just because I feel like we've bonded and because, for a minute there, I actually wanted to fuck your brains out —the night of the party, seeing you and Quinn together…. And for future reference, if you ever tire of pussy, I still wouldn't say no to you on your knees. Maybe Quinn could join you? She really knows what she's doing, doesn't she? I mean, if there was ever an award…"

He caught Rachel's wrist tightly as her hand rose swiftly to meet his face.

"A life isn't going to be worth a damn to Quinn if she can't use," he said at last, releasing her arm. "However much she thinks she wants one, that desire will begin to die the moment withdrawal kicks in. It won't survive, it never does. She's going to call me, just like always. Save your time and effort. And maybe your heart, I don't know. How much does she mean to you?"

Rachel felt flushed. She could feel her heart beating. She glared up at him. "You underestimate her."

"And I think you're naïve and are grossly exaggerating her strength." Francis afforded Rachel a pitied glance prior to turning his back on her. "I'll try not to say I told you so."

She knew he was wrong.

It wasn't a childish fantasy that Quinn would get better. When Rachel wasn't heartbroken, when she didn't feel like she could run at Quinn full speed and not get any closer, Rachel believed in Quinn enough to get better.

But she now fully understood the setbacks that most substance abusers faced and she wouldn't lie, it was crushing. It made doubt and fear seep in. As patient and understanding as she could be, there would always be times when she needed to admit defeat and be distraught because of that. She needed time and a safe place to voice all of her fears so that they no longer festered inside her head. Then, once it was out of her system, she would try again.

As much as Rachel believed in Quinn and knew that Francis had it ass-backwards, she couldn't deny that a nerve had been hit.

She felt defensive because of his remark, and weak and embarrassed that he'd overpowered her. So, in an attempt to level the score she kicked her leg upwards as hard as she could and was mildly satisfied with the pained groan he choked out when her foot connected with his groin. "That was for Quinn," she said as Francis slumped against a chair and knocked a glass off the table where it shattered, head ducked. "And I don't care who you are, if you ever put your hands on me again, trust me when I say you'll regret it. Just to warn you, you know, seeing as we've bonded."

While she conceded that it probably wasn't the best idea to momentarily disable a man who she wanted as far away from her as he could possibly get, Rachel couldn't deny the small thrill she received for standing up to him. The buzz wore off the moment he stood back at full height. Francis barely concealed the fury in his eyes, but a threatening advance or a raised fist never came. There was nothing. The anger in his eyes died away reasonably fast considering the circumstances but Rachel only stopped expecting something to happen when he closed the front door after him.

X

The strange part was that Quinn knew she should have collapsed in exhaustion ages ago. The past few weeks had been a rollercoaster, especially the past few days, and she knew that she'd planned to hang out with Jackson for a couple of hours and then either drag herself home or fall asleep on his couch and wake up with a blanket over her a few hours later. Now that her plans would only ever happen in another life —if ever— she didn't feel tired. She didn't feel anything but a strange mix of numb and exposed. She didn't feel anything, but at the same time it hurt so much that she thought maybe there should have been a broken bottle sticking out of her chest.

Quinn walked aimlessly for a couple of hours until she recognised a neighbourhood.

She'd lived in New York for a few years and she liked to think she knew her area well, so she recognised each path she took; only she didn't recognise how they'd started to lead to one place.

Quinn stopped in the middle of the road and glanced up several houses to where Francis lived. The lights were off and an equally potent rush of disappointment and relief swept through her.

She couldn't do this; she couldn't be there. She didn't trust herself anymore. Quinn would have taken her frustration out on Francis if she thought he was to blame, but the truth was that the blame fell to Jackson and the drug he'd pushed into his bloodstream. It was all that was to blame in her own situation.

There was nowhere left to go but home.

Her foot connected with the door in a satisfying crack of sound and she walked inside without registering that the lights were still on. Honestly, she hadn't expected her friends to stick around and wait for her once they flushed her stash. She probably should have done, because it was absolutely the kind of friends that they were. All Quinn wanted to do was strip off her clothes and take another shower. The door closed behind her and she looked up from the small table she'd dropped her keys on and was startled to see someone crouching down in her kitchen, facing away from her as they swept glass into a dustpan.

The first thing she noticed was that it definitely wasn't any of the three friends she'd left there earlier.

When her brain caught up with her and she was able to recognise that robbers didn't usually stick around to clean up a mess, Quinn's heart stopped beating so wildly. And when Rachel turned around and looked up at her from under long eyelashes, Quinn's heart slowed significantly at the sight. Her shoulders dropped.

The dullness to her eyes cleared some.

"I'm dreaming," she muttered hopefully. "This has all been a—" Quinn's exhaled carefully and her eyes briefly fell shut.

Rachel's heart ached for her. She'd seen Quinn in some states before, but nothing like this. Never quite so broken. Rachel left the dustpan on the floor as she stood to full height, taking long strides forward until she could loop her arms around Quinn's neck.

"Quinn, I'm so sorry."

The graveness to her voice made Quinn's chest heavy again; the sensation of Rachel's arms secured around her making her throat constricted. It hadn't been a bad dream. Her bottom lip was close to quivering and her teeth clamped down on it while she leaned down and returned the embrace. She pulled Rachel tight against her and held her there, incapable of resisting the urge to press her face against Rachel's shoulder and suck in a breath through her nose. She couldn't believe that she was crying again.

Rachel's hand moved down over the leather covering Quinn's back, quietly comforting her as she cried. Besides the weight to her chest at seeing Quinn so distraught, Rachel felt better now that she had her right there and she didn't have to worry about if she was hurting by herself or getting into trouble, or with Francis. Quinn was right there; she could feel her body and the heat it emanated. After a while, she began to feel Quinn calm down.

"Kurt called me. I got here as fast as I could. I tried to call you back, but you didn't take your phone and so I couldn't…I couldn't tell you that I was on my way, and that I was so, so sorry." With Rachel's gentle apology out there, she pulled back but kept a hand around Quinn's neck. "How did it…"

Quinn wiped a hand over her cheek harshly. "I don't know," she said thickly, shaking her head. "His neighbour thinks it was an overdose. He never got sick, didn't complain about not feeling well, so I—I think it probably was that, but… but he was so careful, Rachel. Always. I don't understand how he could just…die." Her brows pinched closer together. The worst part about all of this was that it was almost certainly an accident. She would understand more if he'd been sick, but he'd been okay. There had been nothing profound about their last exchanged words, no warning sign. Because of an accident, she would never see him again.

Rachel nodded, lifting her free hand to dry the other side of Quinn's face. "I know. None of this is fair."

"I feel like I'm just sinking now," Quinn confessed. "And I— I keep hurting the most important people in my life but they still come over when I call, and they still…fly across the country when they know that I need them."

"Is it really such a surprise that we'd do that for you?"

"Considering what happened in Florida, yeah. I lied. I expected them to…cut me out, or at least screen my calls until you got back and then they would decide if they hated me or not."

Rachel's hand slid down to Quinn's shoulder where it rested comfortably. "Quinn, just because I was mad, that doesn't mean I gave up on you. I called Finn to check on you. I could have reacted better," she admitted, "but I'm human and I was scared and hurt, and I just needed some time to regroup, okay? I'm sorry."

"You didn't even get to do that."

"I got what I needed to," she assured. "But we don't need to talk about that right now. We need to pack you a bag. I want you to come and stay with me. Or stay with one of the guys, just…don't be alone tonight."

"I can't leave," Quinn trailed off. She couldn't impose on any of them like that.

Rachel had a horrible feeling about what would happen if she were to leave her alone during a time like this. "You have to. If you don't, you'll do something stupid. Come with me."

"After what I've done?" Quinn's eyes lowered and her mouth turned with a flash of memories. "I can't."

"Yes, you can." Rachel's hand moved back up to cup the back of her neck and then she felt Quinn's hand rise to rest on her arm, curving her fingers around it and spreading her thumb outwards and back in again, leisurely repeating the action. "Quinn, please. You can't be alone right now. I'm scared of what you'll do."

"There's nothing left. Finn and Mercedes, I told them to flush it."

"Then you've stopped," Rachel declared swiftly with a nod. She'd been so surprised to hear that from Kurt and Finn that she'd had to sit down. "If you're serious about this, then it can really be a fresh start if you want it to be. Just…stay with me. Please. I know you didn't fully believe you could do it and that halving your intake is a guarantee to you sticking around, but you know that's not true anymore. You did amazing, but you can do better. A week, okay, and then you can decide how you're doing. You know, if you're doing well and you want to carry on and see how it goes, or if rehab would be best for you." A clinic would undoubtedly be the best option for Quinn but Rachel didn't want to throw too much on her at once, not after what happened to Jackson and what happened in Florida.

She was expecting a vehement protest but one never came.

Quinn didn't take her eyes off Rachel while she considered it. There was a rueful look on her face before she said, "I can't do that to you. I'm—different in withdrawal. If I'm around someone, I'm awful. I'll be awful to you. I'll stay here, do it here. It'll be different this time."

"If you don't come with me, you'll go to Francis," Rachel predicted. "You know you will. Please, Quinn. If you're serious about it, you have to choose a smarter option."

"I won't. I promise I won't. I don't want to see him." Quinn said that, but she knew Rachel was right.

"But you will," Rachel pressed carefully, looking Quinn right in the eyes. They were striking, even after hours of crying. She had a serious question for her and one of the possibilities for an answer made her voice softer; scared. "Does part of you want to die?"

"No," came Quinn's firm reply. She sighed. "God, _no_. I want to stop," she confessed after a moment, and Rachel's hand dropped down to her sides. Quinn wanted to hold it but she didn't make a move. "I do. I've wanted to stop so many times, even before I saw you again, but I haven't been able to and it terrifies me because I know what's going to happen if I can't. I mean, Jackson's _dead_ and I don't want to be next but I'm going to be if I don't get and stay clean for—"

"So don't be. Okay. Commit to it. No cameras, no press, no work; just us. You can do it, I know you can. If you want to do it, there's no reason in the world that you can't do this with the right method and support. Be open to it."

Quinn appeared thoughtful for a while. "I'll have to quit the diner," she said quietly. "They're understaffed next week; there's no way I'll get the time off."

"Is that okay?"

"I hate not working, but I don't think I have a choice."

Rachel didn't think so either and she nodded supportively. "And you want this? You want to get better?"

There were functioning addicts out there, it was true. But the amount of pain stabbing Quinn in the chest when she so much as thought about Jackson made her certain that she wouldn't be able to be around substances of any kind and not binge for a long time. No, she hadn't dealt with pain very well for years now, and she knew she would deal with it disastrously if left alone.

She had to change, and she knew it. She'd known it for a long time but didn't want to admit how serious things could get.

She wouldn't end up like Jackson. Quinn refused. She didn't want that.

"I want this more than anything."

Such a load had dropped from Rachel's shoulders and she felt so relieved that she could burst into song. She did manage to restrain herself though, and instead settled on wrapping her arms back around Quinn. "You can do this," she said. "Do you want to go change and I'll help you pack a few things?"

Quinn suddenly remembered her beer-stained top and started to pull away, accepting Rachel's offer gratefully.

It hurt; everything did, but Rachel was there and Quinn thanked God for that. Quinn thanked God for her.

X

The tiredness had worn off by the time they got to Rachel's place.

Quinn went to the spare room and carefully set her case down on the bed. She'd been in there before —Rachel had given her a grand tour a while ago and she had worked out in there with Puck, but it was different to be there alone at night when she knew she would be sleeping in the bed. It was different to be in clean, calming room with all of its comforts and know that in just a few short hours it would feel like hell.

But she didn't want to think about that just yet. She had things to do and not a huge window of time to do them in. She had to unpack, because there was more chance of her being struck by lightning than being able to do something as small as unpack a suitcase tomorrow. She had to go over some sort of guidelines with Rachel, so that they both knew what to expect and how to handle it, and simply because Rachel deserved an explanation and some insight as to how Quinn worked in situations like that being as she'd opened her home to her for an entire week of hell.

She wanted to tell Rachel how sorry she was, and how grateful she was that she would have the luxury of getting clean around someone who made her feel safe and loved instead of strangers in a facility.

With her clothes filling otherwise empty drawers and the other side to what appeared to be Rachel's second closet, Quinn set some of her toiletries in the en-suite bathroom. When she was scanning the room to look at all of the little decorations Rachel had hung up or placed in there, the corners of Quinn's mouth turned up just slightly. One of Rachel's awards was in there. She brushed her fingers over the name engraved in it.

"Quinn?"

Her hand fell away and she spun around to find Rachel in the bedroom. She walked to the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Can I make you something to eat?" Rachel asked. "I know you're probably not that hungry right now, but will you want to eat tomorrow?"

Quinn definitely wouldn't want to eat tomorrow. She wouldn't be able to, either. And as much as the idea of a snack or even a meal uninterested her, she thought it was a good idea to eat while she could. Besides, it would make Rachel feel useful. She nodded. "If you don't mind?" she said gratefully. "Whatever you want to make will be great. I could, um, I could help, if you want?"

"You could. Or if you wanted to take a quick shower or get in the tub, by all means. You might as well pamper yourself while you can, right? Before everything…sets in."

It was another good suggestion but she felt a little guilty. "Are you sure? I feel like I should help."

"I have my stepladder, Quinn."

"Right. A bath would actually be great. Thank you." She saw Rachel smile in response. When she made a move to leave, Quinn stepped forward. "Hey, Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

Quinn had called her back without thinking of the words she wanted to use and was nervous to have Rachel looking at her so openly. Her mouth opened and she struggled for a moment until she decided that it didn't matter how the words came out as long as they did come out. "I just wanted to tell you that, despite my screw-ups and, um, frosty exterior, I guess you could say, I've had some good people in my life since leaving home. They're not around now because of me —things I said or did, and I heard moving seven-hundred miles away without a word kind of puts a dampener on a friendship… But they were never you. Nobody's ever been so selfless and nice to me, so… I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything you've ever done for me, and all those times you had every right to slam a door in my face or on my face and you decided not to. I really appreciate that, also. My nose was important to me too."

Rachel smiled and moved one shoulder. "Well, if there's one thing I understood back then, it was the preservation of a nose." Quinn returned it and felt guilty instantly. Rachel picked up on it quickly. "And you," she added softly. "All the times it mattered, anyway."

Quinn found herself nodding. Of course there had been times in junior year when she and Rachel were on rocky ground and they were disconnected, sometimes childish the way that all teenagers could be. But the times that it mattered, yes. Always. It used to freak her out the way Rachel was so clueless in most social situations but could so easily get inside people's head; especially hers. Nobody had ever done that before.

"I wish…" Quinn hesitated. "I wish I could have been there for you when your Dad was sick."

"Me too." Rachel would have loved that. She would always regret the years she'd lost with Quinn. "So," her voice cut across Quinn's thoughts, "bath, a really tiny snack, and a movie? If we're feeling up to it."

"Sounds perfect."

X

The snack was appreciated and Quinn finished all of it, making sure to compliment the chef afterwards.

Reality had hit her again when she'd been alone in the bathroom, but it felt better when Rachel was there and Quinn was grateful for it.

"How are your Dads?" she asked as Rachel sipped water.

"They're great. That—that fight Dad had with Grandma? History. He baked and fixed his mistake in the garden when she was at bridge club, so he's back in her good books now."

"I'm sure Hiram is pleased."

"He's thrilled, oh my God. No more bitchy calls."

"Do they know about this?" Quinn asked nervously, and Rachel nodded.

"They know."

Quinn wasn't sure she could handle hearing the verdict today, so she decided to save that question for another time. There were things she needed to tell Rachel first. "So, I should explain what usually happens to me. I've only ever—two days has been best time being clean. It's pathetic, I know, but you'll understand more in a week. You should hide every single pill, especially any strong painkillers if you have any. If you need to give them to me to get my temperature down or for any other legitimate reason, hand them to me yourself. Don't trust me with a bottle."

Rachel took in the instructions seriously. She'd text Kurt while Quinn was in the bathroom to let them know what was happening. Kurt's job was to spread the news in the morning and to be there whenever she needed him, which he always tried to be anyway. She wouldn't lie, she was nervous to witness Quinn go through this but she would be there every step of the way.

"What else?"

"Anything I say to you when I'm all messed up, I don't mean it. It won't be me."

Rachel nodded. "I understand."

"This is going to be a nightmare, Rachel. You can't go into this thinking that it'll be over in twenty-four, forty-eight hours like a stomach bug or a really mild case of flu. Even if I make it through this, it's never going to go away."

Rachel knew she didn't understand the nightmare part completely. She would have to have this experience to fully understand that. "I'm ready. When will it start?"

"We have some time."

"Movie?" she asked hopefully. "Until we're tired."

While a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen, Quinn went to the living area and set the TV and DVD player up. It was the same disc she'd put in there the last time they'd watched a film together and she wondered how often Rachel actually did sit down and watch a movie. She thought Rachel would have been a movie-every-Sunday-afternoon kind of person. Quinn chose a random movie off the shelf and put it on, pressing pause before the first scene had fully loaded on screen.

She heard Rachel talking in the kitchen and she glanced around to see her on the phone. Kurt's name was uttered several times so Quinn connected the dots and waited patiently. Her back was beginning to hurt and a headache had begun to build. Her eyes filled again after a moment and she knew the majority of the reason was at least not due to her body's withdrawal but her body's way of expressing the grief it felt. She recognised the DVD case next to the TV as some old movie Jackson had owned. It was probably silly but it set her off again, though she did her best to breathe through it.

When Rachel was finished with the call and the coffee a couple of minutes later, she switched the kitchen light off and padded over to the couch, setting two steaming mugs down on the table in front of them. "I made you instant, don't worry. Sorry it took so long; my coffee maker is a serious procrastinator. I'm not sure how it manages to do that but I swear it does. And Kurt called… he says he's so proud of you and hopes to see you soon. I hope it was okay that I told him. He was really worried about you earlier, so I thought—"

"It's fine," Quinn nodded. "And thank you."

Quinn was crying; not in an overly noticeable way, just tears streaked down her face, and Rachel wanted more than anything to take it away for her, to comfort her the way she'd been craving for a long time. After only a brief consideration, she perched on the couch close to her and reclined sideways to lie down. "Quinn…"

Quinn met Rachel's eyes and whatever anxious glimmer had sprung to her eyes at the silent request, it died rather quickly. Whatever part of her had been nervous to lie down with Rachel was forgotten the moment she gave in and accepted the comfort offered to her; moving her legs and shifting around to crawl over Rachel's body.

Rachel lifted her arm out of the way so that it didn't get in the way of Quinn cuddling against her, draping it over her back once they were both comfortable.

Quinn's tears tapered off and she lay there with her head against Rachel's shoulder, thinking of everything that had happened since she had come back into her life in the most unexpected of ways. Rachel had similar thoughts as she stroked her hand over Quinn's back. She thought of all of the ways her life had been turned upside down since meeting her again —the good and bad aspects of that, and how she couldn't imagine how things would be if the hurricane had never hit and she had never contacted her old friends. She couldn't picture not having all of them around again. She couldn't picture all that time of not being with Quinn or not having her to think about. Rachel couldn't imagine not being able to see and experience all of the distinctive little things that made Quinn who she was.

For instance, Quinn's animation when she spoke and how she always lifted her eyebrows when she was being wry and sarcastic. Rachel especially liked when Quinn threw in a casual shrug and moved her head along with whatever say was saying. Then there was the tightening of Quinn's mouth and how she raised her chin in a show of defiance whenever she was irritated or trying not to give in so quickly, or the last time she'd been around Melissa at the studio and restrained herself to a blank sort of eye-roll. She thought it was cute whenever Quinn held her hands when she spoke, and when she'd start to smile at certain things their friends talked to her about.

Rachel loved Quinn's jacket, which was currently hanging up across the room next to one of hers. She loved the smell of it and how it felt under her hands. She loved how Quinn looked in it.

She liked Quinn's hands and how smoothly she emptied a shot of liquor into her mouth; the way she listened to records late at night even if the taste in album was sometimes questionable; how books were still important to her; the way Quinn was protective of her, and oppositely, how her eyes darkened when they were having a fight. She liked the way Quinn looked and sounded when she sang. There were so many things.

The only thing Rachel couldn't and wouldn't put up with was the drug abuse and it felt like now was the right time to stop. There had been right moments before —any second during every day before that would have been perfect, but Jackson's passing would either make or break Quinn and Rachel hoped Quinn would be strong enough let let it make her. She could learn from it, change her life. Be the woman Rachel always knew she could be. Being as Quinn finally and fully understood that she had to get clean and was on the way to making a true effort, there had never been a better time to do this.

Rachel had been thinking about Quinn differently for what felt like a long time now and it was usually difficult to stop once she started. With Quinn's gentle weight pressed against her, all Rachel could think of was the hotel room in Florida and how fast her heart had pressed and retreated against her chest the moment Quinn grabbed her face and kissed her.

"I'm sorry."

Rachel looked down but only saw blonde hair. "For what?"

"Florida." Quinn lifted her head to look her in the eyes. "You're probably sick of hearing it, and I know it doesn't change what happened, but I need you to understand how much I regret putting you in that position and making you uncomfortable. I hate to think that I—"

"I know," Rachel reassured. "I'm sorry I left the way that I did, for leaving things like that. I was just really hurt and confused. I really needed my Dads, you know?"

Quinn shook her head, dismissing the apology. "It was because of me. You had to do it, I understand. I crossed a line, I made you uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable, Quinn. I was shocked because of your timing and your reasoning behind it, but uncomfortable _because_ of the kiss? No. Not at all." She paused, looking at her. "If you think for a second that I hadn't given that a lot of thought before then, I must have been way more subtle than I thought." It came out without a trace of hesitation and Quinn stared at her, searching for truth in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to Rachel's mouth and then Rachel couldn't wait any longer. "C'mere."

She knew with absolute certainty the answer to her parents' question. She knew it as soon as she heard Kurt's message.

The request took a moment to register and Quinn's breath got stuck in her throat. She couldn't deny the look reflected in dark eyes and she used her foot to push herself several inches higher, bracing herself over Rachel with a hand nestled into the cushions of the couch and Rachel's arm. She was vaguely conscious of the drumming inside her chest as she looked down to her. They'd never been in this position before. She liked it.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asked nervously. "Because I want to, but there's so much we need to talk about and I don't want you to regret the timing—"

Rachel had risen up and cupped her hand at Quinn's neck, claiming her mouth in a long kiss. She was firm but not overly so, and when she pulled away Quinn's eyes were still closed. "I know. Later, okay? We can just have this now. Just this once."

When they fluttered open, Quinn looked to see how far Rachel had retreated, which wasn't far at all, and dipped her head so that their mouths were only millimetres apart. She pulled back slightly just to make certain that there was no last-minute protest and moved back in when there was nothing of the sort; gently brushing her lips over Rachel's. It remained that way at first; just a light touch of their lips until each brush became longer and Rachel's arm slipped over Quinn's shoulder and pulled as she lowered back on the couch. Quinn followed after her mouth so that theirs didn't separate for even a second.

Rachel felt like she might sink right through the couch if she didn't slink both of her arms around Quinn. An action meant to ground her became a catalyst to her body's reaction at finally being like this with her. Their kisses grew firmer in their mutual craving and Rachel opened her mouth wider, slightly disappointed when Quinn didn't immediately deepen it. She couldn't be too disappointed though because Quinn's mouth pressed and kissed at hers in a way that had her need become greater with each touch.

Following a momentary break to allow both of them time to slow down, Rachel impulsively kissed the closest patch of skin to her mouth —the side of Quinn's, and impatiently turned her head to again capture Quinn's lips again but they were pulled just out of reach. She opened her eyes in confusion and spotted a hint of a smile playing at Quinn's mouth that was instantly mirrored on Rachel's and then Quinn quit teasing and lowered her mouth back down. She kissed Rachel once, and then twice, sucking a plump bottom lip gently and letting her tongue sneak out.

When they finally deepened the kiss, disappointment lost all meaning to Rachel.

Their mouths softened against each other and they kissed unhurriedly, each kiss melding into another. Rachel was sure she'd never been kissed so thoroughly in her entire life. She, herself, had frequently been complimented on being skilled in that area but they did nothing to suppress the surprised pride at the first quiet moan Quinn released before trying to push her body even closer, and how the combined actions nearly sent Rachel through the roof. Her hand travelled up Quinn's back to hold the back of her head, feeling silky hair beneath her hand.

When they finally pulled apart, Quinn didn't move far and Rachel rose to kiss her chin and then fell back down, gazing up like she was drunk. Her body was humming and there was a little more colour to Quinn's usually fair-skinned cheeks.

She closed her eyes for a second to help with willing her body to relax. The method was ineffective when she still had Quinn Fabray lying practically on top of her. Rachel opened them to find Quinn watching her. To break any potential awkwardness —because she absolutely hadn't planned on making out with her tonight but the chips fall where they may and she wasn't about to regret it or apologise, Rachel ended up moving a hand to Quinn's hip and said,

"I agree with everything you just said."

Quinn surrendered to the desire of one more kiss. She kept it brief but it satisfied her. Thrilled her. "You, too. Good speech." She pushed herself up and waited for Rachel to sit up and separate their bodies from the temptation. Part of her couldn't believe what had just happened. "I, um, I would really like to…listen to another one of those but it's been a while since I used and—"

Rachel grew serious. "It's going to start soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. My back is already starting to hurt," Quinn shared. "But we should watch the movie; it'll be a good distraction. I mean, not speech good, but…"

"I get it," Rachel reassured, reaching for the remote, and pressed play.

It had been on for a little under an hour when she turned to Quinn to comment on the scene and saw her lean forward to pluck a tissue from the box on the table; sneezing into it a moment later. Rachel saw the discomforted furrow to Quinn's brow and pressed pause.

"It's starting?"

Quinn nodded as she drew her legs closer to her body when the chills truly kicked in.

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," Quinn replied honestly, although she quickly realised that it was untrue. "Just be here."

Rachel could do that. She lifted a blanket over the top of the couch and opened it out, carefully draping it across Quinn. She sat closer to her.

"It's going to scare you," Quinn warned.

"I know."

She turned to look at Rachel. "I know it seems impossible but I'll look worse than I do now. The way I'll act, the things I'll see or say. You have to ignore them."

"I will," Rachel promised.

"I'll push every single button at some point. Don't listen to me, and don't let me go out by myself even if I beg you. Full permission to restrain me any way you see fit."

"Okay."

Being as that was out there now, Quinn really did need a distraction. "Will you press play?"

"Are you sure? It has like ninety minutes left, do you think you can make it?"

"I need the distraction."

It was difficult not to baby Quinn every time she shivered or sneezed, twisting around to combat whatever pain her body was beginning to feel. Rachel looked at her sometimes, hating how much paler Quinn looked each time. Rachel tried to tell herself that Quinn just had the flu. Rachel had had the flu before, it hadn't killed her. This wouldn't kill Quinn either. She'd be fine.

Quinn's breathing increased and she couldn't keep her legs still. They were restless and dead. She rubbed her thighs, hitting closed fists off them every now and again. When it failed to bring any relief Quinn resorted to harder thumps, hitting them in time with the sharp pain starting to pulsate in her head. "Sorry," she said, knowing Rachel could see what she was doing. "It's hard to stop."

Rachel's hand slid underneath Quinn's, uncurling the tight rigidness of her fist until their hands were firmly clasped together.

They stayed that way for a long twenty minutes and then Quinn let go, pushing the blanket off her body. Rachel watched her slowly get to her feet. "Are you going to bed?"

"Bathroom. I'm going to be sick."

Rachel was instantly on alert. She moved forward as if to get up. "Do you need me to…?"

"This part's pretty gross," Quinn explained softly. "Free pass to sit it out." The concern reflected on Rachel's face was difficult for her to see because this was only the tip of the iceberg and she knew how much more she was going to make Rachel worry, in the next few days especially. "Thank you for this," she said, receiving a small nod in response. "I'll be okay."

It would only be a couple of hours until Quinn would know those words to be a lie.


	18. Darkest Hour

In spite of warnings and mental preparation, nothing would have fully prepared Rachel for what was happening. There was nothing she could do to brace herself for seeing how sick Quinn got; the screaming and crying at all hours of the day and night thus far; how physically ill she was, always rushing to the bathroom. That was the main problem; that there was nothing Rachel could do. They just had to wait it out.

The first night had been rough but Quinn didn't complain much. She wasn't exactly in good spirits considering her body was repelling on her in almost every way she could think of, but when Rachel carefully padded into the bedroom at various times of the night after going to bed at a ridiculous hour anyway, Quinn made sure to fight against whatever discomfort she may have been in and offered a quiet thanks each time. Rachel had probably got around three hours of disjointed sleep in total but she was still up early the next day.

Quinn had finally stopped rushing to the bathroom —more than a dozen times during the night from what she remembered— and then Rachel walked in and looked horribly concerned when she caught sight of her lying awake and miserable in bed. Rachel had been in a few hours earlier but Quinn had been trying to sleep and so there had been no exchange of words.

Quinn ached terribly and she was exhausted but insomnia came with the gig. Rachel didn't ask Quinn if she was okay but she did ask if there was anything she could get her. Once she'd received a decline, she asked why the bottle of water she'd put on the nightstand last night was unopened and the small glass of orange juice was still full.

There had been a few hours during the night where Quinn wondered if she would freeze to death she was that cold. Now she was hot and sweating but her skin had been gooseflesh on and off for the past hour. She kicked the covers off her body and closed her eyes. "What's the point?"

Rachel proceeded carefully. "Well, the point is that hydration is important, especially when you're sick. I think you should drink it."

"Later."

"Please drink something soon." She headed over to the window and put her hand at the blind's cord, glancing behind to the bed. "Don't open your eyes for a second," she warned before letting in the bright sunlight of a clear, mild morning and sliding the window up to let some more air in. She leaned against the windowsill when she was finished. "I don't mean to sound stupid, but how—how was last night? Was it—"

"The last seven or so hours have been wonderful, Rachel," Quinn answered, strained. "A wonderful gift from God."

"You don't have to be sarcastic. I'm new at this, I just wanted to know if it was as bad as the last time."

"It's not like you build up a tolerance for these symptoms," Quinn gritted out, to combat the pain more than anything. "It's bad, it sucks, I would like to be unconscious. All right? So unless that water or juice has a real kick to it, I would rather be dehydrated than have to rush to the bathroom again." Quinn was agitated and she pulled at her bed top. The long sleeved material pricked against her skin and her face was flushed with a fever.

Rachel nodded. "All right," she conceded gently, her eyes moving over Quinn's face. "Did you sleep at all?"

"A solid ten minutes. Going to push for an even fifteen tonight, what do you think?"

"I think you should get some rest now. I'm just outside if you need anything." Rachel was at the doorway when she heard Quinn's intake of breath, and turned back to see her turn over and away, curling her legs up to her body. The action made it clear that privacy was requested and Rachel would reluctantly give her some. "I'm just outside, Quinn."

X

There was a loud thump against the wall a while later.

Rachel stopped texting with both Kurt and Tony and swiftly made her way back to the spare bedroom. She pushed the door open curiously, staring inside to see a bottle of water on the floor that had presumably been lobbed across the room for some reason. Whether or not it was valid had yet to be established.

Quinn's face was damp with tears and she hung her head when she noticed Rachel in the room with her, whimpering pathetically. A sharp, fiery pain cut across her lower back and radiated outwards in a dull ache that set her teeth on edge. Her back arched and the tension eased it for a moment and then it returned more aggressively.

"Sorry," she snapped. "He was— he wouldn't shut up and I told him to go away, but he wouldn't listen."

Rachel knew hallucinations were part of the deal for Quinn. This wasn't a surprise to her. "There's no-one here, Quinn."

"Yeah, because I made him—" Her sentence cut off abruptly and she began to move her legs around on the bed, discomforted. Other symptoms were coming in to play as the hours passed. She could barely handle the pain in her back and head; she didn't need to add her legs to the list. She groaned when it seemed to intensify, rolling on her side to bury her face into the pillow and cry.

Rachel left the room and returned with a chilled bottle of water and a couple of over-the-counter painkillers. "Can you sit up? I have something for you." She didn't sit down on the bed because she knew Quinn had had a rough night and probably wouldn't want her, or anybody, too close to her. There was no movement. "Come on, it'll make you feel better."

Quinn lolled her head to the side to peer up and see Rachel standing there with a bottle of water. It wasn't enough to persuade her body up off the mattress. All it wanted to do was lay down. She sniffed and closed her eyes because Rachel was standing by the window again and even though the blinds were drawn, it still hurt to look over there. Her head was a throbbing mess; she didn't want to do anything to add to it.

Her voice was a little forced and she moved her legs again. "I'm not a house plant, you don't have to come in here and water me at regular intervals. I just want to be alone. Alone and thirsty. I'll drink later."

"Okay." Rachel lifted her hand to show her thumb and forefinger pinched together, holding two Tylenol there. "So, you don't want these?"

Reluctantly, Quinn peeled her eyes open and squinted over at Rachel's hand, zeroing in on the pills. She exhaled in relief but was under no illusion that they were a magic cure. They were probably over-the-counter strength painkillers and would almost be like tossing back a couple of skittles but they would be better than nothing. She pushed up on her elbow and held turned her free hand out.

"You have to have the water if you want the pills."

Quinn dropped her hand, breathing out a half-hearted laugh of incredulity. "Medication comes with a catch in this place," she noted. "Great."

Rachel remained patient but she did roll her eyes. "I'm not asking you to wash them down with acid, Quinn. It's just water. Have a mouthful."

"A mouthful and you'll be happy?"

"Ecstatic."

Once again, Quinn opened her palm and two small capsules were deposited into it. She tossed them into her mouth and accepted the uncapped bottle of water next, swallowing the water and pills together. It was cold and wet and she couldn't resist a second mouthful of it to soothe her parched mouth and throat. Rachel placed the bottle on the side once Quinn was done with it.

"I had two," Quinn said, her voice a little rough and flat, and reclined on her back again. She hoped the pills would kick in sooner rather than later otherwise she may melt through the mattress. "Try to pace yourself."

"Hey, I'll try, but if you hear any weird noises I'm scaling the walls, okay?"

Quinn's eyes had closed but she hummed a vague response. Rachel was relieved that she was going to try and get some rest. The more Quinn slept the better. If she could sleep through some of the symptoms, that would be great. Less opportunity to jones for a hit or be in pain. Less reason to have to find distractions. There were books and a TV in the bedroom, of course, as well as a laptop and board games and music. Rachel had every base covered.

She even stocked up on crackers.

X

Quinn banged into the bathroom and fell to her knees with a violent retch, just barely making the toilet. Not even five minutes after she'd swallowed the water the cramping to her stomach began again, in a way that wasn't the regular cramps associated with withdrawal; she felt a pulling sensation climbing higher for a while afterwards. There had been a couple of false alarms when she had successfully fallen asleep or her mind has shut off —she was never quite sure which, and she had her hand poised on the covers, fully prepared to rip them off during a mad dash to the bathroom but those faded with careful breaths.

Unfortunately the last intense round of cramping and nausea wasn't staved off with a few breathing exercises.

She gripped the toilet to ground herself, her body going taut with the second retch, lasting longer this time. It was revolting and a little scary how much could come back out when she'd barely drunk anything at all. Her muscles were so sore from vomiting all of last night that doing it again felt like another attack. In a way, she supposed it was. Her body was attacking her for all of the terrible things she'd put into it. It was time for payback.

Just when her head felt like it was about to burst open through the strain and lack of oxygen, she was able to suck in a breath. Then she did it all over again. Her eyes streamed and she would have to change her bed top soon, it was sticking to the small of her back and a patch at her right shoulder blade. As she was so preoccupied, Rachel was able to slip in unnoticed and Quinn initially flinched when she pulled her damp hair away from her face and rubbed the centre of her back.

When Quinn was finished, through exhaustion and pain, she wept.

X

One of the most unmanageable aspects to withdrawal was the inability to concentrate on anything for long enough for it to properly distract. No matter what Quinn did or if Rachel was there talking a mile a minute to help, nothing worked. Her mind switched off from Rachel and to every other possible means of entertainment in the room. She just couldn't focus. The nausea wouldn't allow it. But even if it did, her muscles wouldn't. They screamed at her, protesting every movement she made; white hot pain wrapped around all of them. Even her joints ached.

Quinn found it inherently frustrating that she had to experience all of that without a proper distraction or even sleep. Sleep never came. She was awake to see almost all of the hours of the day, free for her uncontrollable, wandering mind to rehash the past, torture herself with memories of Jackson or go back a lot further than that. It was so easy to slip into a deeper depression that way. Too easy.

The worst one, though?

Worse than the hallucinations; the _pain_ ; the sickness; and even the depression, was the sure knowledge that there was an instant cure for all of it. As much as withdrawal could be compared to someone envisioning the worst flu imaginable and then it being ten times worse than that, at least with the flu you could sleep and rest and know that the symptoms would resolve themselves typically within a week. That was all a person could really do: rest. It was the opposite with opiate withdrawal. One decision and it could be over in seconds.

The average person recovers from the flu and gets right back into their lives, but with any type of serious substance abuse it was arguably worse after the withdrawal. There would always be some sort of craving for it. Always. And Quinn's body was definitely craving heroin.

X

If Quinn thought it was bad before, it was nothing compared to now.

She could hear the air conditioning on but her body was burning hot, producing beads of sweat like a hundred-plus degree day. Quinn felt her fever each time she turned or sat up to combat some of the pain; the inside of her head weighted and throbbing; hot like lava. She kept thinking about Jackson, wishing she could talk to him about this because at least he would understand, wishing he was there, period, safe and well for her to celebrate with if she got better.

As it was, Quinn wasn't doing much talking unless it was to beg Rachel to leave her alone.

She didn't want Rachel to see her like that, which was silly because she was taking care of her. Naturally there would have to be face-to-face encounters.

Quinn flung the covers all the way off the bed and lay with her head at the foot of it instead, as pain wrapped around each nerve ending and settled deeply into her joints. Even her bones ached. Her teeth hurt, for God's sake. Doing nothing, her heart raced and her chest moved in and out rapidly.

She could feel someone standing across the room. It wasn't Rachel. She could tell when it was Rachel. It was someone different. She'd felt it at one point the night before and opened her eyes to see a dark figure at the foot of the bed watching her. Quinn had never seen it before but she didn't feel afraid. She'd been too preoccupied. Her reaction was similar now; in too much discomfort to give a shit about what was or wasn't in the room with her.

She sucked in a quick breath and held it there, curling into herself with persistent muscle spasms and debilitating stomach cramps and back pain. An abrupt sensation of nausea washed over her so suddenly that she couldn't get to her feet in time. Quinn leaned over the edge of the bed and heaved several times, at least thankful that they were dry.

It was finally dark in there again. There wasn't much relief for her head but at least any pain wasn't exacerbated by the sun.

Lying back on the bed, Quinn had twisted around several times in a vain attempt to find a position that wasn't unbearable. She had yet to find it but she had to keep moving every half a minute or so. It hurt too much to stop.

She'd been hallucinating on and off all day. Lucy and Beth had showed up first during the night trying to bait a reaction from her, which she refused to give. Then she'd seen Francis and it felt like he was there for a long time, he wouldn't leave. And now she could feel the same presence she'd felt when she had opened her eyes to a dark figure in the room last night. It was almost certainly there again but she couldn't turn over and look. She just didn't have the energy for that.

The same sensation the night before hadn't brought a sense of dread with it. Quinn had opened her eyes a couple of times to see a dark figure in the room and while it was easy to rationalise that it was all in her head, it became much more difficult to do so when she could see it with her own eyes.

Unlike last night, the sensation of somebody watching her turned dark and malicious.

She couldn't focus on it for too long. Quinn began to whimper pitifully at all of the pain ravaging her body. She was so tired now and nothing worked; crying and feeling sorry for herself was all she could do.

Quinn knew not to open her eyes in the dark when she was afraid. She also knew how dark her mind had been for the past few hours; there was no telling what she would see if she were to open them.

But whatever was in the room had a voice even if she couldn't make out a solid form the last time she'd seen it. Its voice was deep and honeyed.

"Quiiii-iiiin?"

She felt exposed with no covers and her sleep shorts off. Quinn tried to remember how long it had been since Rachel checked on her but time had begun to lose meaning to her. It all seemed to bleed together. Nevertheless, Rachel was very good with regular checks so it should be any minute that the door would open, right? Quinn wiped her damp forehead, pushing her hair away from her skin. She couldn't bear for anything to touch her skin.

"Quinn!" It was across the room. "QUINN, QUINN, QUINN!"

She had her eyes closed, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge hearing it in the first place. It wasn't there. If it was, Rachel would have rushed into the room with a frying pan or something equally as cliché by now and she wouldn't be scared. But Quinn couldn't deny how the sense of dread had firmly enclosed around her when she was exhausted and fragile —vulnerable.

The next time it spoke, it was directly next to her ear; low and direct. "Open your fucking eyes before I slit your throat."

Quinn's body remained taut and she turned over, curling her arms around her pillow. She didn't hear anything after that. Not for a while.

Most remarkably, she must have fallen asleep a short while later because she experienced an incredibly vivid dream where she and Rachel had been walking an almost deserted New York with the sky a wondrous shade of orange and red, wading through streets made of sand. It hadn't felt unusual, but then dreams never do. Quinn thought about how dream Rachel had been holding her hand. They'd held hands before, many times, but hardly ever while walking together, and never just to feel the other's skin.

She acknowledged how hot it was in the room —or how hot she felt, and then thought about nothing for several blissful moments. Her mind shut off totally because the next time she became aware of her surroundings rather than staring blankly, Rachel was sitting on the bed with her.

The suddenness of it made her start a little. How long had she been out of it?

"Sorry," Rachel said quietly, letting the light from the hallway illuminate the room instead of putting on the lamp. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, wrung it out, and then folded it over before she pressed it to the side of Quinn's face. The coolness of it made Quinn's breath catch and elicited a quiet sigh. Rachel repeated that action several times over the next few minutes on Quinn's face and her forehead but she could still feel the heat radiating off her body and it concerned her. "Your temperature is worrying me."

The fact that Quinn hadn't told her to leave already worried her.

Quinn had been hostile the last few times Rachel had gone in to check on her or ask her to drink something. It was ever since she'd been there with her in the bathroom, really. Rachel thought it was probably just embarrassment making her act that way.

She went to pull the cloth away from her neck after a moment, just to turn it over to a cooler side, but Quinn prevented it, her eyes closed. Rachel's dropped to their joined hands.

"That feels good."

"I want to help you, okay? I want you to take some more pills and drink half of that bottle I just brought in."

Rachel's voice had been kind but Quinn resented the request, especially following the last time. She could barely speak she was so exhausted. Some of her words came out joined together. "I'll have the pills, but I don't want water."

Next time when Rachel tried to turn the cloth over, she wasn't stopped. "You can't do that."

"Can do whatever I want. 'm an adult, remember?"

"I see that," Rachel said. "But you want to get better, right? And I want to help you with that, so you need the pills. I made sure to get the drowsy ones so they'll help you sleep. Tomorrow, if your fever's down and you want the other pills to sleep, I can—"

"They don't work. They've never worked."

"Oh."

"I'll be sick if I drink. Told you earlier but you didn't listen," Quinn forced out. The coolness to the cloth against her neck felt incredible but she wanted to get a hatchet and bury it in each of her thighs they hurt so much.

"You might be sick," Rachel conceded. "But you need to drink something. You've barely drank anything all day and it's really dangerous. You need to replace the fluids."

"I don't care." Quinn touched her fingers back to Rachel's to guide the cloth across to where her shoulder met her neck. She didn't know if it was because her skin was so overheated but Rachel's hand was cold to the touch. "Your hands're cold," she opened her eyes to say. Then she noticed Rachel in sweatpants and a zipped up hoodie. Quinn groaned internally. It made her uncomfortable to even think about wearing that attire when she was so hot.

Rachel looked at her from underneath long lashes, almost looking charmed for a second. "The AC is up really high," she explained. "It sort of feels like I should put my favourite Christmas or holiday album on."

Quinn didn't exactly look amused but she did think that was a joke. If anything, it felt like they were back in Florida. "No."

"I'm serious."

So was Quinn when she said, "'m sorry you're cold."

"It's okay," Rachel brushed off. "I love layering up."

The smile was what did Quinn in. When the bowl of water had lost its initial gasp-inducing coolness, she accepted the pills and swallowed them dry, drinking half of the bottle slowly over the course of five minutes. It didn't feel like nearly enough. She could put her mouth underneath a running faucet and it wouldn't feel like enough. But she just couldn't put her body through anything more than necessary.

Despite her carefulness, she would still have to tap into unknown strength to rush to the bathroom again a little while later. The only bit of luck about it was that Rachel had gone to bed and didn't wake up. It was better that way. One of them should get some sleep.

When she was sure she was finished, Quinn stripped off and put the shower on. She washed her hair and her body the best she could under the circumstances and then sat down, spent, until the water ran cold.

X

The night didn't improve.

Ever since forcing herself to her feet long enough to gingerly make her way back to the bedroom, Quinn felt as though she'd passed the initial stage of withdrawal and had firmly settled in to the next stage, or rather, fallen deeper into it.

She almost expected to see a layer of frost over her body she felt so cold. The window had long been closed and when Rachel had come in to check on her, Quinn was promised that the AC had been switched off in favour of cranking up the heat instead but it just didn't feel like it to her when she was curled up in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. The material felt like sandpaper and her skin stung but it was a small price to pay for a little warmth. Beads of sweat prickled as they gathered on her skin, left untouched in fear of letting in cold air underneath the blanket. She forgot about them soon enough when her focus was pulled in the direction of the ringing to her ears; so intense that there could have been blood on the pillows and she wouldn't have been alarmed.

She'd unfortunately caught sight of her body before getting into the shower last night and she thought about it again, recalling how haggard and pale she'd looked, how thin. The handful of pounds she'd put on with regular meals fed to her by Rachel and friends looked to have rapidly shed. Bones protruded harshly and although she hadn't been in any mind to do anything but acknowledge it last night, in bed she trailed her fingers over her left hipbone and cringed.

Quinn remembered when she was a teenager, before the crash diet and surgery, how she'd dreamed of having a body with no fat for anybody to make fun of. It all felt ridiculous now.

She was relieved, in a way, to find her eyes running again. The liquid was warm as it fell down her skin.

Quinn's mind cleared shortly after that. When she realised that her mind was empty, filled with nothing but white noise (which she thought could have been the distant ringing to her ears), it jumpstarted back into a flurry of emotion and was able to process a surge of pain expanding from just about everywhere on her body.

That was the first time Quinn reluctantly and shamefully thought to herself that she couldn't do it anymore. She just wanted it to stop.

X

Rachel was so thankful to see her friends.

There had been calls and messages from each of them yesterday but they had all showed up at her doorstep before breakfast with hugs and words of support, because as much of a toll as it took on Quinn, Rachel's distress was important, too. Stuck inside the apartment, they knew she would be in need of some friend time.

They offered to take shifts where two of them would look after Quinn while she went out for some air or to run any errands that needed doing. Most of Rachel's appointments had been cancelled and she was too stubborn to go for a walk. It wasn't that she didn't trust her friends but she just couldn't leave. Quinn didn't even know they were in the apartment and it wouldn't be fair.

Brittany asked if she could see her.

Rachel noted everyone else's agreement, all wanting to just put their head around the door to express their pride and well-wishes, do anything to make her more comfortable, but it wasn't a good idea. Appreciated? Absolutely. More than she could say. But Rachel knew it wouldn't be well-received. Quinn would hate for them to see her like that.

Even if the shift idea was knocked down, the group still made it clear that they would be coming by or calling (or both) once a day until things had improved. Rachel was under strict orders to tell them, if it ever happened, the second that she felt like she couldn't deal with it on her own and they would be there.

Brittany, Puck, Tina, Mercedes, Kurt, and Blaine each had a bag of groceries for her, filling her fridge and cupboards to almost bursting point. Santana had two bottles of champagne but listed off strict orders that it was to be saved until they could all toast to Quinn's recovery. Sam had flowers —two bunches, Mike had a specific brand of chocolate for Rachel, and Artie had some get well soon balloons for Quinn. Finn was the last person to approach her with something. It was a flash drive.

Rachel thought it was a cut of the video they'd just shot but he was quick to deny it, though that would be ready in another couple of days.

It was an album compiled of people yodelling.

One of his friends from Indiana had made it for him for a gag gift and it was always guaranteed to bring a laugh whenever he needed one, so he figured it wouldn't be a totally inappropriate time to copy the files off his laptop and burn them onto a flash drive for Rachel.

The past couple of days had been long and more difficult than Rachel had been equipped for. She should have known that her friends would do something like this; remind her that no matter what happened, each and every one of them loved and supported her, too.

Once Antonio arrived, the group left with hugs and kisses and promises of checking in later.

Tony had extended the same sympathy and support, also bringing by some flowers. He knew what state of mind his brother had been in on his many attempts at getting clean and understood that Quinn wouldn't want anybody else in the apartment. It wasn't selfish of her, not when she was working so hard at getting well again. She had to feel safe there. He just felt it important to tell Rachel in the flesh that while he had initially disproved of her closeness with Quinn, he supported them both one-hundred per cent.

Tony left after only ten minutes but he did impart some wisdom on Rachel before he went: tips on how to approach a situation and when it was time to back off versus when it was time to persist. Practical things about when to deal with the fast build-up of bed laundry and such like, tips on how to keep _herself_ busy instead of in a constant state of worry, that just because she was the person to take care of Quinn, it didn't mean she couldn't allow herself to be frightened or to cry. She was a human being and they were human emotions during a difficult time. He understood all of it and he was there if she needed anything.

X

Rachel tried to keep herself busy for the rest of the day; something she usually found difficult when she was preoccupied and was restricted to her apartment. She could have called someone over but she thought she'd manage. Much like the day before, she found lots of odd jobs around the house to do. She got a lot of baking done. Everyone would be getting a lot of cookies and muffins that was for sure. She cleaned and reorganised her cupboards and was shocked to find so many cans and packets out of date. Some of them she didn't even remember buying. Three shelves of books and music were rearranged. She even went through her junk drawer in the kitchen, going through outdated take-out menus, old bills and receipts, pens and the like, throwing over half of it in the trash.

Rachel had stopped between most of those tasks to check on Quinn and fought past her instinct do absolutely anything to put an end to the way she was still physically ill, screaming and crying in agony.

The last time Rachel had gone in the bedroom Quinn had stopped feeling frozen to the core and had instead felt burning hot. Because of that, the covers were back off and she'd stripped off everything but her bra and underwear. Rachel could see the weight loss, apparent after only two days. She looked at her, unable to mask her fear for only a moment. Quinn didn't meet her eyes but she'd seen the way Rachel's face fell as she looked at her body and told her to get out.

That had been an hour ago. Since then, Rachel had prepared dinner for herself; something quick and easy, and just barely managed to keep her own tears at bay as she cooked. Quinn had warned her that all of this would be frightening to see and experience but she hadn't expected it to hurt so much. She hadn't expected to feel quite so powerless.

She called Kurt, who was in the middle of his own dinner.

What came out of her mouth next made him drop his chopsticks.

X

Rachel thanked Kurt profusely for the favour and he pecked her on the mouth before he left with a promise to call her first thing in the morning. She walked over to Quinn's door and knocked gently, waiting an appropriate moment for any sign not to walk in, and entered.

It was going to be dark again soon but there was no need for any extra light in the room yet. Quinn was still in bed, crying again, her breaths choppy as her body shook with violent tremors. She tried to control herself once she noticed that she was no longer alone but it was a bad time to have company. There was no controlling anything for Quinn right now.

Rachel couldn't resist being a little closer to her. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed some of Quinn's hair away from her face, trying not to allow the way Quinn's body was trembling to frighten her. They were the worst of the tremors she'd bore witness to. "Hey," she said quietly. "You've done so, so amazingly the past couple of days. We're all so proud of you." She saw Quinn mute a gasp the same time as her body visibly tightened with a spasm. Rachel made sure to catch her eyes. "I'm so proud of you." Her left hand was out of view but she brought it up, showing a burger that she didn't particularly want to be holding. "I know it's not a good time, but I really want you to eat some of this."

That time when Quinn's eyes welled it was because of the way her body would react if she was to attempt to eat even a bite of that. She was so nauseated that even the smell turned her stomach. "No."

The decline made Rachel's heart sink. She didn't know what else to do other than persist. "Quinn, please," she begged unabashedly. "I know you don't want to, but you need to eat something."

Quinn was so spent from the past two days, physically and emotionally, and it just seemed like Rachel was giving her the perfect opportunity to direct some of that self-loathing and anger onto somebody other than herself. Rachel knew what she was asking of her and she still wanted her to do it?

Quinn's eyes turned baleful. "Fuck you, Rachel."

Other than a slight duck to Rachel's head, she didn't react outwardly. "You have to eat."

"So—so I can throw it back up? Good plan; slow clap forthcoming. Get out."

"Stop talking to me like that, I'm trying to help." She pushed the burger closer to Quinn's hand but it made no difference. "Just… please. The sooner you eat, the sooner I'll leave."

"I want a bite of that as much as you do," Quinn remarked.

"I know," Rachel acknowledged. "But you have to. You can't afford to lose much more weight, Quinn."

"Good, I'll be dead sooner. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you dragged me here for; revenge for everything I did to you at school and how I've hurt you since. Pretty—pretty hilarious seeing as it was six years ago and that I warned you all about it." Rachel put her hand on Quinn's arm only for it to be pushed off. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said gently, not bothering to refute those ridiculous accusations. She apologised that she hadn't gotten to Quinn sooner, that she spent years blissfully ignorant and how nothing she could do would stop the way Quinn's body shook; face damp with sweat.

"Fuck you," Quinn spat out. She wasn't crying right now but her eyes were running so much that it looked like she was.

"I'm worried about you."

"You're a welcome mat, you know that, Rachel?" Quinn said, staring up at her. "It's fucking pathetic. You're sitting there judging me when I'm speaking to you like crap and you're doing nothing about it." Quinn frowned deeply, groaning like she was so exhausted from being in so much pain. "I feel fucking _sorry_ for you."

Rachel heard Quinn's breath hitch on the last word and looked down to her hands gripping the sheets. "I'll get you some painkillers if you try to eat something first."

"No."

"No isn't an option anymore. I know you're in so much pain, but—"

"Get _out_."

Quinn's eyes closed briefly and Rachel noticed her breathing begin to quicken. It twisted her inside out to see her in pain like that. She couldn't even comfort Quinn with a touch without angering her. "Quinn, please."

Something inside of Quinn snapped at the desperation laced in Rachel's tone. "Get out! God, I don't want you anywhere near me! I don't need you, I don't want you!" Her body squirmed, bending at the waist at another unexpected surge of agony rippling out to each part of her body.

Her arm was flung over Rachel's lap accidentally but she used it as a lifeline. Quinn clung to Rachel like she was her last chance and, despite being too tired to, she found the energy to scream and cry some more. Her tremors worsened and Rachel tentatively put her hand on Quinn's back with no demands to stop. When she was confident that it was okay, Rachel began to slowly rub her hand up and down it. It was rigid in pain.

"Rachel, please," Quinn sobbed. "Make it stop."

"It will," Rachel soothed. "I promise."

"It's never going to stop."

"This is helping you. However bad it feels, the addiction is doing more damage to your body."

Quinn shook her head quickly. "No."

"Quinn—"

"No," she repeated. Quinn cried out suddenly and loudly, folding an arm over her stomach protectively as her head ducked further into Rachel's legs, gripping Rachel's shirt tighter with each spasm tearing her apart from the inside out. The tears came without effort and she wept with each ripple of pain, until it was too much and she wondered why she wasn't passing out. "Rachel," she forced out quickly and harshly through gritted teeth, sucking in quick, panted breaths to calm the way her heart was racing. "Please."

"This is going to pass," Rachel promised, slowly moving her hand up and down Quinn's back as she tried to keep herself in check, but it was difficult. It was difficult not to get upset upon seeing the state Quinn was in and knowing that there was nothing she could really do for her.

Ducked from view, Quinn's face twisted at those words and another spasm. Hopelessness surged up like a wave within her. "Rach, do something," she whimpered.

"I'm gonna be here," Rachel said. "You're going to get through this, okay? This isn't going to last."

Quinn just cried harder in frustration, and then moved so that her head fell down against the mattress beside Rachel's thigh, her arm still folded securely around her middle like it would be able to help. "RACHEL!" she screamed, muffled some by the bed.

The response was the sensation of Rachel's hand still running over her back, still trying to help. Quinn panted and gripped Rachel's top or her hip, waiting for the pain to pass. It took several minutes for the most intense spasms to taper off, and then she was left to contend with the same pain in her head.

Quinn twisted away onto her stomach, drawing her knees up where she pushed each side of a pillow against her ears. It was a naïve hope that if her head was sandwiched between the nicest pillows she'd laid her head on in years they would help take the pain away. They didn't. Her head was still splitting apart and she didn't know how to make it stop. Quinn flung the pillow away, struggling to sit up. She was still breathing harshly, one leg curled underneath while the other hung over the edge of the bed, toes brushing against the soft, thick carpet. Quinn hung her head, crying because it was impossible not to.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," she chanted quietly. Her stomach was cramping like it was in a vice again, and after sitting up Quinn felt like she was standing outside in a snowstorm again, teeth beginning to chatter lightly. She crossed her arms over and began rubbing at them to take an itch away, adding to the pain. She didn't know how harshly until Rachel had moved to her side of the bed and was next to her, gently moving her hands away. Quinn recoiled at the touch, her body language begging Rachel not to do it again. "When you touch my skin, it's like razorblades. When _air_ touches me, it's like razorblades. Everything hurts, Rachel. Everything. It's so cold, I can't—"

Rachel was on her feet quickly, having left the burger in the bedroom. "I can help with that," she declared suddenly, leaving to change the temperature settings yet again. She didn't really know if she could help by doing that but it was certainly pointing in the right direction of it. When she returned, Quinn was on the floor at the side of the bed, her arms against her knees. She had a bed top on now.

"It's been three days and I can't do it," she wept.

"It's been two," Rachel hesitated to correct, her tone apologetic. She heard Quinn's breath stick in her throat.

"No."

"You are doing so amazing, Quinn."

Quinn's head shook defiantly, closing her eyes against the news. The physical craving was raging as fiercely as the pain and she locked her arms around her knees. "Stop," she begged quietly to herself. "Please, just stop."

Rachel sat down beside her, resisting the natural instinct to touch when providing comfort. "It's okay."

Quinn sucked in a breath. "This is all my fault. I kept using, I couldn't stop, and If I can't get through this I'm going to..." She trailed off, thinking of her old self and everyone who loves her; her friends, mother, Rachel, Jackson. "I'm sorry."

Rachel dismissed it with a shake of her head. "Someday all of this is going to be in the past, you'll see." It didn't seem like Quinn heard her because she cried harder and Rachel saw beads of sweat gathering on her head and dampness to her neck.

"I never meant to hurt anybody. I'm not a bad person, I'm not, but people are scared of me. Sometimes they look at me on the street like I'm dangerous or I'd hurt them just as soon as look at them and I wouldn't. I—I know I lose my temper sometimes and there's no excuse, but just lashing out? I wouldn't. I swear I wouldn't."

That time, Rachel couldn't not reach out. She held the back of Quinn's head. "Hey, shhh, I know you're not. Okay? I'm not scared of you."

"You were once," Quinn pointed out. She angled her head and gritted her teeth against the memory of Rachel backing away from her at Bill's Boozer, her mouth pulling downward. "God, when I think about that…" she whispered. "I don't know what I was thinking. And when I think about pushing you—"

"Well, no, you shouldn't have done that. Either of those things —even though I'm still grateful to have my rings. But Quinn, come on, we didn't even know each other, you know? Six years is a long time to be apart from someone and I showed up and destroyed what you felt was the most important aspect of your life. Thinking that you, or anyone else, would lash out was in the realm of possibility when I considered how you'd react. In your position, I don't know that I could say I'd react differently." Rachel stroked Quinn's hair and felt her shaking her head. "Look, you know that I don't condone it. You reacted wrongly and you know that. And you know that because things are different now you can't ever do it again and expect things to stay as they are. But I don't want you to dwell on what happened in the past. It happened, and it's done. Learn from your mistakes. That's all we can do."

It was all anybody could do.

The next thing she knew, Quinn had turned towards her and sort of buried her face in her neck. Rachel put an arm around her and rubbed her back for a while, worried at the temperature of Quinn's head against her skin until she drew back.

"Do you want to try to sleep?" Rachel asked, desperate to ask if she would eat a little first. "Or do you want to get out of this room? If you can stand for a while, I'm about to make some tea. You can keep me company."

"It hurts to stand," Quinn said pitifully. "It hurts to talk or swallow or move. It hurts doing nothing."

Rachel nodded in sympathy. "How much have you slept today?"

"I can't sleep. My head, it won't stop racing. My mind's just—just spinning and doesn't stop."

"Maybe… maybe it would help if you ate something?"

Thinking about it rationally, Quinn agreed whole-heartedly but she also knew that her system would likely and swiftly reject anything close to solid food right now. "Not enough to sleep. And I can't with someone staring at me."

"Okay, well if you're feeling up to it, we'll get you out of here for a little while and then I'll give you some time alone."

"No, not you. It wouldn't bother me if you—" Quinn's frown was still deep in her forehead. "Someone watches me. They were standing at the foot of the bed most of the night."

Rachel paused. "I came to check on you more than enough times to know if there was someone else in the room, okay? It was just us. Besides, I always take precautionary measures to rid my new apartments of spirits. Anything that was here would have gone the second Alice stepped foot in here. Do you remember me mentioning her? She's a poltergeist psychic. Friend of a friend. Her work is amazing. She couldn't feel a presence in any of the rooms but she did do a quick sweep of the place with some incense while muttering in a weird language, so I paid full price, plus tip. You can never be too sure."

Quinn just looked at her. Rachel pressed her lips together in a small smile.

"Let's get you some tea," Quinn choked out, bracing a hand against the bed to push herself up. It was a struggle and Rachel had to steady her when she swayed on the spot for a second, but she made it. She even got some sweatpants on. It was nice to be getting out of the room for a while. "You can…bring the burger. I won't be able to eat it," she warned honestly. "But I'll try."

Rachel leaned over her kitchen counter with a strong cup of tea several minutes later, watching as Quinn sat outside on the balcony. She was on the floor with a thick blanket underneath and another around her, leaning back against the railing with her eyes shut as she chewed carefully. Rachel saw her hand tremble each time she lifted it and felt a pang inside her chest. Quinn was eating; she had to be happy about that. She had to focus on that. It was a good thing.

But Quinn was so pale and thin; even from a distance Rachel could see the gaunt quality to her body and face, and the blackness underneath each eye. A slight breeze lifted Quinn's hair and all of a sudden Rachel was turning her face away, feeling her eyes brim with tears. Quinn was supposed to be in recovery but she'd never looked worse. It looked like she was fading away in front of Rachel's eyes and there was only so much she could do about it.

She was limited.

And that was a harsh truth.

Once they started, they refused to stop. As soon as the tears spilled over she moved out of view and went to the living room instead, cupping her hands over her face to stifle any sounds that may have escaped involuntarily.

She had to allow herself that time. There was no way she could deny it to herself.

The first touch against her hand a couple of minutes later startled her because she hadn't heard the approaching footsteps but she should have expected it. If Quinn could make a quick exit, she could just as easily pop up out of nowhere. Quinn pulled Rachel's hand away from her face and held it, her brows furrowing at the sight of tears.

Quinn felt dreadful and knew she looked worse —she needed another shower for one thing, but it didn't matter because they were both there and present and Rachel looked devastated because of her. A lump pressed at the base of her throat and constricted it horribly. She tried to ignore how sore every inch of her skin was and stepped into Rachel's personal space to wrap her arms around her. "I'm sorry." It was a bad sign that the embrace was returned smoothly and Rachel remained quiet except for the soft but sharper intakes of breath every now and then, adjusting her head against Quinn's.

Quinn turned her head to kiss Rachel's hair and felt a kiss pressed to her shoulder in return.

There were no platitudes. No promises.

No lies.


	19. Make a Beast of Myself

The reluctance to eat had, of course, been a keen prediction of what was to come.

Quinn's whole body tightened for extended periods of time as she retched; sore muscles screaming out in protest at being forced to contract with the vomit that poured from her mouth. She coughed and gagged, spitting out excess saliva and the foulness to her mouth. With her face twisted in repulsion and discomfort, she dropped the toilet lid down and fumbled to flush it. Her body didn't feel like it was close to being ready to stop rebelling against her and her abdomen tightened as an indication but Quinn paid no mind to it when the sound of the toilet came from far away and she began to lose her sense of balance, unsure of how the room could appear so far away yet so close at the same time when colours slowly began to pour into her vision, eventually steering towards a murky black.

Quinn blinked several times to combat it, reminding herself of her surroundings. She blindly put her hand out towards the floor and followed it, her back pressed against the cool linoleum as soon as she was distantly aware of another tightening of her body, this time more powerful, and a burning hot sensation at the back of her throat. Now that she was reclined, it was easier to give in to the way she wanted to sleep and heal and Quinn stopped fighting it.

The next thing she was aware of was her name being called like she was under water, then that something hot and wet was leaking out of her mouth as she coughed violently and wetly. It made her throat sting like nothing else. Her eyes opened to see colour instead of blackness, more specifically a flash of brown hair before the floor rapidly appeared in front of her face at having been pushed over to her side.

It was not even a moment before Quinn realised that she was choking and that the arms around her, quickly guiding her farther over so that she was hovering over the floor, were Rachel's. Instinct had Quinn grip the floor as the food she'd eaten earlier pumped out of her.

She couldn't feel how tightly Rachel was holding on to her in return.

By the time she was finally finished and drawing in desperate breaths between her sobs, she could feel the way Rachel had her forehead pressed against the space between her shoulder blades. Quinn could feel and hear her crying, and she dropped her head lower; her mouth opening in a silent scream and the loudest sob that would never leave her lips. It made her chest throb.

"You have to let me call someone," Rachel pleaded when Quinn pushed her arms away from her shortly after. "Please. An ambulance, a-a nurse, I don't care."

Quinn barely managed to pull herself away from Rachel and avoid the vomit on the floor at the same time. She slumped back against the wall, catching the tears on Rachel's face and how she looked so utterly at a loss. It made Quinn's blood boil.

"Like that was withdrawal," she said, her voice flat and rough. "That was you forcing me to eat when I said no." It didn't bother her when Rachel's mouth quivered. If anything, it made it worse.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Quinn's eyes slipped closed and she swallowed to combat the dryness of her throat. "Getting the fuck away from me would be a good start."

"Not when you're—"

"Seriously," Quinn insisted slowly. Eventually it proved to be effective. As soon as she heard the door click shut she opened her eyes and looked to the mess she'd made. Her face twisted at the sight of it but she found cleaning products to clear it up and had finished with it in minutes.

After that, she washed her face and brushed her teeth thoroughly, grateful that Rachel had spare mouthwash in there because hers was almost empty. Quinn's weight was supported by the sink and she looked down to spit the minty green liquid out of her mouth, washing any traces of it away with water soon after. She placed her toothbrush down carefully and tipped her head up, staring ahead at her reflection.

Her cheekbones were more prominent, her jaw angled more sharply. She turned her head to each side to judge as many areas as she could. She'd been judgemental of her body for a long time and this was no different. It was natural to have areas on the body that didn't look or feel good, especially when compared to others', but this wasn't about anybody else. She scrutinised her own body to see what damage she'd done to it. Her eyes weren't dull anymore. They were lifeless.

She didn't even recognise herself anymore.

Quinn searched for something to make herself feel better.

The medicine cabinet was stocked but of nothing that would help. She'd resorted to prescription pills in the past when she'd been curious or desperate and wasn't above doing it now. Quinn rummaged through everything in the cabinet until she was positive nothing was being concealed in there and she was missing it. It would appear that Rachel heeded the warning and got rid of every painkiller in the apartment, or at least moved them to where they couldn't be found.

Going back out into the bedroom or anywhere else in the apartment was currently a definite bad idea. She couldn't deal with that. The most logical solution, however temporary, was the shower. She opened the door and twisted the large shower handle towards the higher pressure and heat and let the water warm up as she stripped off her clothes. Once heated, she walked inside and closed her eyes at the temperature and pressure in there. She was _warm_ again.

She slowly sunk to her knees and turned her legs to sit down, letting the water beat down against her body. It felt good. During the past couple of days it was one of only a few things that had felt good.

She was tired when she pulled herself out of it some thirty minutes after. Not exhausted like she'd been before, but tired. She'd allowed weak, poisonous thoughts into her head earlier and now they wouldn't leave. Quinn was just tired.

And she wanted it to stop.

Rachel was in the bedroom when she went to get a change of clothes, disappearing back inside the bathroom to get changed. They'd had a moment earlier but that was in the past, before she'd been awful when Rachel was only trying to help. Quinn had asked to be alone when the warning signs began during their embrace but Rachel followed her after a minute anyway. It was a nice gesture, one that prevented her choking on her own vomit, but she had fallen to a new low, a new state of pain and exhaustion, and she wanted to be by herself. There'd been no controlling it.

The shower had soothed some of her muscles and she didn't feel like she was going to projectile vomit over anything anymore, so she finally left. Rachel was still there; changing the sheets.

Quinn stood beside the bed awkwardly. "You don't have to do that."

"I know." Rachel's tone was short but not nasty as she held the corners of a pillowcase and shook the pillow into it. She was nearly finished. One more pillow. The task was finished wordlessly and she pulled the covers over for Quinn to get into before turning away and picking up the laundry.

A persistently blinding headache prevented Quinn from any conversation anyway and she let her leave without saying anything. The fresh sheets felt and smelled good as she slid underneath them and her muscles felt as though they were on fire once she stopped moving. She was freezing again, even under the covers.

She heard Rachel talking to someone a couple of minutes later but there was no telling what was being said over the ringing to her ears and Rachel's unusually quiet voice.

A short while passed and then Rachel walked back in. She felt horribly guilty for begging Quinn to do something that ultimately lead to her being ill but what else was she supposed to have done? The shower that Quinn took had only made her look marginally better and, strained as things currently were, she wanted to lie down and hold her to be certain that she was there.

Rachel sat on the edge of the bed but she didn't move any closer than that.

"Do you need anything?"

Quinn's voice was despondent as she lay in bed trembling. "You wouldn't get it."

What Quinn was alluding to wasn't lost on Rachel. She'd been expecting it on some level for the past couple of days. "You're right, I wouldn't. But I'd get you anything else. Anything in the world, as long as it isn't that."

The refusal still made Quinn's eyes sting. "Please."

"It's killing you."

"This is killing me."

"Quinn..."

"I'm begging you, Rachel," Quinn said. "I'm begging you to do this for me. Please, help me."

Rachel shook her head. "Not like that."

Quinn held Rachel's wrist loosely and tugged on it to prompt her to move closer. She didn't stop until the top half of Rachel's body was pressed against hers and she had her arms wrapped around her. She angled her head towards Rachel's ear. "Please, baby."

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed quietly, sinking against the body below hers. "You can't ask me to do that."

"I can't do this anymore," Quinn admitted, able to see more clearly once some of her tears spilled.

"Yes, you can. This is the withdrawal talking and you know it."

"It's not, it's me. I can't do it anymore. I'm too tired." Rachel was right but Quinn's desperation to not feel pain anymore slithered back into anger. She pushed Rachel away. "I need it to stop and you know how you can help me but you won't. You're watching me suffer and you're doing it because you enjoy it. You hate me as much as I hate you."

It was difficult for Rachel not to react to Quinn. She knew she didn't mean it but it didn't take the sting of the words away. "You can do it. You _are_ doing it," she stated, but it didn't make a difference. "I'm going to bed soon," she said gently as she got up from the bed. "I have a meeting in the morning about the CD, so, I, um, I have someone coming over to check that you're... comfortable. It's something I can't get out of, or you know there's nowhere else I would be."

Quinn's eyes turned even more hostile as she looked up to see Rachel heading away from her. "I don't want anyone else checking on me. Cancel it."

"I tried but it's not happening. And I think you'll feel differently tomorrow. Your moods have varied drastically from day to day, if you think about it." From hour to hour was more like it.

"I said no."

Rachel turned around. "With all due respect, this isn't up for discussion. I have to be there first thing and I'm not leaving you alone. I won't be more than a couple of hours. You know I wouldn't do this unless I had to."

That angered Quinn like nothing Rachel had ever said before. "Why should someone else find me dead in bed? That honour should be yours, Rachel."

Rachel felt her skin prickle. Her lips parted and then she took an angered stride forward. "Don't you dare throw that in my face! After everything I've done for you?"

"You know I'm right," Quinn claimed nastily. "You know this is _pointless_. Everything you've ever done in your stupid, meaningless life has been pointless. This is adding to the list, that's all. Almost a year from now when you're depressed because the first anniversary is coming up —you'll find a way to make it all about you, you always do— I hope you remember this; me _begging_ you and you still refusing. I hope it eats you alive."

Rachel shrugged, losing her battle with tears. "Fine. _Fine_! Why wait till morning? Huh? Why not start right now?" She left the room frenzied and returned with a handful of prescription bottles. She threw them at Quinn one by one. "Take them! Do it! Kill yourself if that's what you really want. But I swear I'll die hating you."

Quinn flinched when Rachel slammed the door shut, her heart thrashing wildly.

She managed close to four seconds before she burst into tears, flinging the covers off her body to get out of bed and snatch up every bottle that had fallen to the floor. Quinn picked up every single bottle and couldn't rush across the room and drop them out of the window fast enough, except for the last bottle. It wasn't anything that would hurt her. She recognised the label as allergy medication. If anything, it would help her sinuses. Her fingers still gripped tighter when she wanted to let go, imagining it was something else entirely in there. She read over the label and focused on the name. Miss Rachel Berry. Quinn must have read it two dozen times before her fingers uncurled and the bottle fell ten floors to the ground.

Still deathly cold, she pulled the window down and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin where she cried pitifully over just about everything. Rachel; Jackson; how much she wanted to get better but couldn't carry on the way she was; the mental and physical toll. Every part of her body hurt. Her back still made it difficult to stop gasping in pain with even the slightest movement, shifting around every few minutes to try to put an end to it. When she wasn't focused on the agony of her back, the pain in her arms made her nauseous. They felt dead and sore like someone was relentlessly punching them, electric pain shooting up and down. Quinn was freezing inside but felt the dampness gather on her forehead.

The room was plunged into darkness and she closed her eyes and tried to shut her mind off so that she could rest. She made an honest effort until she felt another presence in the room; the same one that had been there the night before and earlier in the day.

It didn't feel dangerous or menacing last night, it had just been at the foot of the bed and stared at her the whole time unless she put the light on or Rachel snuck in to check on her, and then it disappeared. Earlier it had at least waited a little while before making her skin prickle, but it felt different from the get-go this time; like it was waiting for her. This time she was scared. Considering its aggressive nature from only hours ago, she snapped her eyes open and stared to the side at the lamp on the nightstand as she reached with an unsteady hand to switch it on. In her haste she knocked it off the edge and took a bottle of water with it. Quinn felt whatever was at the foot of her bed draw closer and her heart began to pound furiously inside her chest. She scrambled over to the other side of the bed to put that light on instead.

It screamed piercingly the closer it got; dark, weighted smoke wrapped around her body, pulling her down through the mattress before she could complete the task.

And then it was gone, evaporated into the air as soon as Rachel burst into the room and flicked the main light on. Her eyes shot to the bed.

Quinn looked terrified, trapped in a nightmare.

"Quinn?" Rachel's eyes went to the floor and then back to her. Guilt crashed into her relentlessly. "Did you take anything?"

Quinn's glassy eyes darted around frantically. "Did you see it?"

"See what?"

"That thing, that guy. It felt like a— He was on the bed. He was taking me away."

"Quinn, there's nobody here, I promise." Rachel walked closer to the bed and placed the lamp back on the nightstand. She saw Quinn trembling violently, clearly distressed, and climbed into bed next to her, covering one of her hands with her own. "It's just us."

"He was here."

"Well, he's gone now." She felt the heat radiating off Quinn in waves and reluctantly separated their hands. "Do you want me to open the window?"

Quinn shook her head, groaning lightly in pain again now that Rachel was there. She was right; he wouldn't come back if she was there. He left the night before whenever Rachel would come in to check on her. Tonight wouldn't be any different, would it?

"If you didn't take anything, where—"

"Out the window."

"I'm so sorry. You just hurt me so much when you said that and I lashed out. I don't know how to not react when you say words like that to me. It kills me every time. And I mean, it was dramatic more than anything because they were all antihistamines or iron tablets, something for heartburn too, I think. I didn't even keep any of the other stuff in the house. There's just Tylenol and it's not enough that it would be dangerous. One of the guys brings more over when it's needed. It won't happen again. I know you deserve more than that from me." Rachel's eyes filled again. "I'm so proud of you. God, Quinn, do you know how amazing it was for you to do that?" Quinn's eyes were flitting around the room again and Rachel reached out and touched her hand for only a second. "Hey, it's just me. Do you want some Tylenol? Maybe it will help you relax."

Quinn shook her head and saw Rachel's hand moving closer to her face. She beat her to it, her fingers coming away wet. Rachel was going to say goodnight again any second, she was sure of it. And then she would be alone again. All night.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to get some just in case?"

"No."

"Quinn, your shaking is awful. I need to get you something. Do you want some tea? I can make some." It was a silly suggestion but she didn't know what else to do.

"Will you stay with me? Sleep right there?"

The request surprised Rachel and even though it had only been mere minutes since they'd had a fight, she found herself nodding, having forgotten it entirely. This was Quinn, not the one who spat vicious words intended to cut. "Yeah, of course I will."

Quinn almost whispered her confession when they were lying down and the room was dark yet again. She'd been right about Rachel's presence keeping any unwanted visitors out of the room. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

"I'm going to die tonight." She was too tired to be anything but painfully honest.

Rachel's face fell, feeling the same coldness Quinn had spoken of in the past days. It chilled her to the core. "What?"

"I don't know, I just— I really feel like— like I'm going to… and I don't want to be alone. Will you put your arms around me?" Quinn's eyes closed and her pain made her breath hitch. Tears continued to leak out of her eyes no matter what she did. She'd given up trying to stop them days ago.

"It's the withdrawal," Rachel stressed, but Quinn could tell she was upset as well. "You're not going anywhere."

She might have believed Rachel if she hadn't moved closer and held her tighter than ever, and Rachel might have slept easier if Quinn hadn't turned around in her arms and held her back just as fiercely.

Quinn had one more request. "Don't let go."

"I'm not going to let go."

X

True to her word, Rachel didn't.

The only reason they'd separated was because Quinn finally fell asleep after about an hour and turned over. Rachel lay close to her but didn't touch her because of the temperature still raging. The window had stealthily been opened.

She stayed awake most of the night to make certain that Quinn's claim was her demons talking and not some strange prediction. Rachel had read about those before; articles and stories about people who accurately predicted their own deaths. It had scared her more than she thought possible.

But Quinn woke frequently and as much as Rachel wanted her to rest, the reassurance of hearing her stir awake was too comforting for her not to be grateful. When Quinn did sleep, it was fitfully; her body twitching and jerking. It happened so violently once that Rachel, who had been lost in thought, was startled.

Eventually, though, she succumbed to sleep herself and dozed for a couple of hours near to sunrise. She woke up confused for a moment; not recognising the spare bedroom right away, and then last night's events came back to her in vivid detail. For once, Quinn's breathing was slow and steady. Rachel allowed herself a couple of minutes and then kissed the back of Quinn's head before she got up to start the day. She had to look halfway put together for the meeting and knew that the bags under her eyes wouldn't look good but at least she could make up for it by at least trying to work some concealer magic and making an effort with her clothes and hair.

It was a good job she'd woken up because her phone was on the kitchen counter where she'd left it last night and it had four new messages, one of which stated that someone was on their way over to her place right now. The message had been sent fifteen minutes ago. There was a knock to her door.

X

Quinn was prepared to wake up alone. She knew Rachel had an important meeting and would have felt awful if it had actually been cancelled. The few hours of sleep had made a difference; not a massive one, but it was something. Maybe getting something to eat had helped too, but she still woke up hurting and with a craving so intense that she didn't know how she would be able to withstand it every day for the rest of her life.

Luckily the rest of her life didn't play on her mind too much. She could barely think of today and not go stir crazy, let alone draw up a life-map.

Quinn heard the TV on in the living area.

She used the bathroom to freshen up and looked back at the bed in disdain. How sick and tired she was of having to lie there all day when there was nothing she could do to have fun. The glance in the mirror was, again, a mistake. She looked awful, it was impossible to disagree, but she had to brace herself to greet whoever was sat on the couch.

She was shocked yet indifferent when she saw who it was.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Finn smiled sheepishly from the couch, offering her a small and awkward wave. "Hey."

The part that had been stunned didn't want to deal with him seeing her in such a state and she didn't hang around for the embarrassment to hit, she decided to tackle the situation head on. "I'm going to kill Rachel," she threatened idly, turning to go back to the bedroom.

Finn called out quickly. "No, wait. Look... you're here, and—and I'm here. We could be here together."

"I'm too sick for this."

"I could make you breakfast? I can do toast and juice, and peel grapes. Whatever you want."

Quinn thought that over for several moments. Perhaps something light —definitely not a fucking cow— would make her feel better. Something very light. Mostly because it was strange to have gone so long without food and because realistically she knew that it was dangerous for her to refuse. "Can you do that and be quiet?"

Finn sort of smiled at that. "Sure, like a mouse," he promised, jumping up off the couch he was stretched across and picked up the blanket draped over the back. "Sorry. Here, sit." Quinn gingerly sat down and he stood there gawkily. "Uh, do you want me to, like, tuck you in, or—"

She stared at him and he scurried off to the kitchen as quickly as possible.

Quinn closed her eyes, physically and mentally exhausted. Glass bottles clanged loudly in the refrigerator and Finn cringed before Quinn had even winced.

"Sorry," he said. "Rachel's got, like, a dozen different salad dressings in here. She's trying to hide the eggs and milk behind them. Can't believe she brought them for you."

"She's stupid." And it was true; Rachel was stupid. Ridiculously so. But so much more of her was wonderful.

"She's trying to make you better."

That was a tactful way of saying she looked like shit if she'd ever heard one. It wasn't untrue. "I look better than you," she remarked with no weight behind it.

Finn smiled. "You always did."

After years of living without an attentive mother to cook his meals for him, he'd learned how to make a few things in the kitchen. He decided that scrambled eggs on toast wouldn't be a total disaster and asked Quinn if that was okay; he even managed to make some small talk with her as he kept an eye on breakfast. Quinn wasn't so much an active participant in the conversation but she did try.

Minutes later, she pressed her nose into the couch and looked across to Finn in the kitchen guiltily. He didn't recognise what kind of look she was giving him.

"What?"

She swallowed and then puffed out a breath, breathing through her mouth. "That smell," she revealed.

Finn stuck his chin out and sniffed the air experimentally, a cheeky look on his face. "My eggs smell good, lady. What are you talking about?"

"They smell so bad," Quinn muttered, now trying to counteract the current stomach-churning air with Rachel's scent heavily imbedded into the furniture. It was good. It didn't combat it totally, but it did help. "I'm sorry."

"Nah," Finn drawled, pulling the pan off the stove. "Do you think birds ever get a— like a jonesin' for eggs?" he asked, cracking a smile. "Like, they wake up in their little nest and think, 'god, I'm so tired of worms and nuts and seeds and stuff, I could really go for some eggs right now.'"

"Way too sick for this."

"I think they do." He grinned after a second. "You think Rachel would be mad if I left the pan out on the balcony?"

Quinn wished he would, just to get the smell out of the apartment faster. Then she wished he would so that she could witness the expression on Rachel's face which would undoubtedly be indignant and downright appalled. "Horrified."

"Yeah? Think I'd have a dent in my head?"

"Probably."

Finn mulled that over. He didn't exactly put it past Rachel. "I'm just gonna…do toast."

A couple of minutes later they were both on the couch. Quinn nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast and tried to ignore the way she could feel his eyes on her as she attempted to eat, and the way he kept asking if what was currently on the television was something she would enjoy watching. The uninterested yet agreeable responses made him continue to flick from channel to channel, not knowing that it really didn't matter what was on; she couldn't concentrate and she genuinely couldn't have cared less about what picture she stared through as she battled an intense bout of nausea. The eggs had started it, now the toast decided to finish it.

She was clammy again and after forcing down another small bite she dropped what was left of the slice back on the plate, working hard to control her breathing. Slow and steady.

Quinn's symptoms were temporarily pushed to the back of her mind with a sudden realisation.

Rachel wasn't there.

Her eyes wandered over to the front door and the most powerful urge to escape swept over her. She could go. She could get up and walk out of that door. For a moment, even her own desire to get clean was swallowed by the urge to use.

Finn wasn't unaware to the way Quinn had gone calm and still all of a sudden. His hand moved towards her but stopped before it made contact. "You okay?"

"I feel really sick, Finn," she admitted shakily. "I-I need some fresh air."

His mouth quirked in agreement. "I'll open the windows."

"Thanks, but— I think I need more than that. I'm going to go for a walk," Quinn declared, getting to her feet. Her actions were slow and weak but Finn watched her calmly from his place on the couch, not rushing to chase after her. "I'll just be a few minutes, I promise."

Finn remained seated even as Quinn completed her journey to the door and unlocked the chain. He only moved once she had pulled on the door unsuccessfully several times, unable to make it shift. "I really hope there's not a fire," he commented. "We're so dead if there is."

Rachel had locked the door and taken the key with her.

Finn had the spare hidden in a safe place in case of an actual emergency but he wasn't going to tell her that. As he approached, Quinn looked up at him with a glare more cutting than the ones he remembered from high school. It was still alarming but she looked so sick that any fear was trumped by concern.

"You don't look so good."

"Screw you."

She currently hated him, so Finn didn't think it could hurt when he leaned down and pulled Quinn into him, lifting her up from the floor. Troublingly, her weight felt like nothing in his arms. "Rachel said you had nightmares and stuff, so if you came out to eat I was to make you go back to sleep as soon as you were done. Are you done, or do you want to try and eat some more?"

"I hate you," Quinn claimed tremulously, vainly pushing the heel of her palm against his shoulder to free herself from his hold. "Get off me. I just want to go for a walk!"

That was a no, then. Finn headed off towards the bedroom. "Another time. Let's go to bed."

"Oh, please."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to take over Rachel as your cuddle partner or…any other kind of partner. I just want to make sure you're resting and getting healthy, you know?"

"Being healthy includes exercise, pea brain," Quinn growled out, trying to push him away or wriggle out of his arms. Most frustratingly, his grip held firm.

"I know I was kinda stupid as a kid, but I'm not an idiot. We both know where you'd be going if you went out."

"Finn, please," she begged. "Trust me."

"I do," he said earnestly. "I trust you to get better and healthy, and kick addiction's ass. But I don't trust you to go out," he added lightly. "Not yet, anyway." Allowing her to go out, accompanied or not, would undoubtedly be the stupidest thing he would ever do, and that list was admittedly large as it was. "Rachel trusted me to keep you safe until she got back; I'm not going to screw that up. I wouldn't do that; to either of you."

They were in Quinn's temporary bedroom.

The bed was unmade and he stopped in front of the right side of it when Quinn sighed in an overwhelming rush of disappointment that the solution to all of her pain had been ripped away from her. There was a part of her, so small she wouldn't acknowledge it for a while to come, that was so relieved that she relaxed against him, surrendering. The despondency made her eyes sting and fill and she sobbed when she finally wound her arms around his shoulders, lowering her head close to his neck as he held her.

It felt good to not be sitting or lying down, or to have to use an ounce of her own energy.

Finn stood and held Quinn in his arms until she stopped crying and instead murmured that she was going to be sick.

X

As usual, Quinn felt at her lowest physically and mentally just after she'd been ill.

It made her volatile. She couldn't do anything about Finn's hand rubbing large circles on her back when she was vomiting into the toilet but she could once she'd stopped. Her skin didn't hurt the way it had yesterday but she couldn't stand to be touched again and was more aggressive than she meant to be when she told him to leave her alone.

She lay on top of the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Rachel returned after a couple of hours and Quinn heard her ask Finn how everything went. It got quiet after that, so she made the correct assumption that Finn broke the bad news without wanting his voice to travel. Even Rachel's after that had been too quiet to hear. And Quinn felt guilty and blasé at the same time. She started to care, to feel the pinch of skin between her eyebrows signalling that she was twisted up over something, but then she would realise that the frown was there for so many other reasons than simply guilt.

The rollercoaster of emotions she currently felt was a normal part of withdrawal. She'd heard stories, experienced it before in the past when she'd tried to quit. Only this time, on top of everything, the reminder that one of her best friends was dead would take the breath from her lungs. Quinn had cried enough about Jackson to fill buckets over the past few days. When she thought of him now, it was calmly but with the surreal sort of disbelief that death always brought; sudden or not. It still hurt more than she could find the right words for and she still had tightness to her chest and a lump in her throat, but there were no tears. She wouldn't be able to talk about it. Quinn would have to process it by herself and never talk about it again. It would hurt too much.

Rachel came in shortly after Finn left.

She sat on the edge of the bed and put a fresh bottle of water on the side. "Hey."

Quinn's eyes moved from Rachel's to look at her hair and travel down her body. Rachel had obviously made an effort to look presentable for the meeting because her hair was in loose, glossy waves, not a strand out of place, and the dress was a smart rather than casual, Quinn noted. She remembered seeing Rachel wear it once before when she'd come over for dinner.

She remembered not being able to find the words for how gorgeous Rachel had looked even back then. Her heart beat harder.

All Rachel knew was that Quinn staring at her and after finding out what happened when she was gone, she was naturally concerned. "Are you with me?" she asked, brushing some of Quinn's hair behind her ears. Quinn nodded, swallowing thickly. "How did it go with Finn?"

Quinn's eyes drifted shut for a moment at the sound. It didn't matter if Rachel was speaking softly, any kind of noise made Quinn's head want to explode. "You spoiled my opening line. Minus the Finn part."

"I'm sorry, go ahead," Rachel insisted.

"How did it go?"

There was a glint to her eyes as she said, "Pretty good. The album is now finished," she declared happily. "I mean, I know it was before Florida— there was just one song that Mercedes and Artie weren't completely happy with their vocals on, so that was fixed the other day and the bosses listened to the whole record rather than just bits and pieces and demos and what have you."

Quinn couldn't find the energy to lift a brow but she would have any other time. "Oh?"

"They loved it," Rachel beamed, shaking her head as though she almost couldn't believe all of this was true, even now. She breathed out a laugh. "They loved it. And they were so happy and proud, Quinn. Everyone's working on finalising the marketing and promotional angle right now, so we should expect some official news really soon. I know we had a date in mind and it has to coincide with everything in Florida but sometimes it either works out much later than you think, or a little sooner, so…"

"That's amazing."

"It is," Rachel agreed. "I'm so glad that we can share this with each other and our friends. I'm so happy, Quinn."

Quinn's face was flushed, her eyes were glassy the way they had been sporadically over the past few days and she felt like she'd been hit by a bus, but there was some good news. At one point after being ill she'd managed to nap for thirty minutes straight and she hadn't hallucinated or had a nightmare all day.

This didn't feel like a delusion at all.

The contentment on Rachel's face looked real and honest, put there by commitment and hard work. Forgetting absolutely everything else, it made Quinn happy.

She nodded. "Me too."

X

The rest of the day mostly consisted of the same components as the two previous.

Quinn was Quinn one minute and an angry, spiteful woman the next. Unpredictable emotions and states of mind were frequent and when she could focus on anything other than how rotten she felt, she spent more time thinking about her future and Jackson, finding excuses to cry again just when she thought the shock had worn off. She knew that being alone affected her despondency for the worse but she didn't trust herself to be around anybody. She didn't want to ruin yet another smidge of progress by running her mouth, so she asked Rachel to leave her alone.

Rachel kept her promise for hours, only slipping in to place a small bowl of lollipops on the side. If Quinn couldn't eat food because of the nausea and after-effects, maybe they would help. At least the sugar would provide some energy.

Quinn's mouth was so dry that the only thing she could do was reach for the water and took a small sip, swilling it around her mouth and first sucking the top and then her bottom lip into her mouth. It solved the dryness but not her thirst. She resisted anything other than one sip for a long time but when she reached a certain point the thirst won out as it was always going to. She didn't care about being sick and drank until the bottle was empty.

At the first sign of impending gut-wrenching stomach cramps and nausea, she reached for a lollipop.

It helped to ease her stomach a little and she closed her eyes at the reprieve.

That was until a few minutes later when the last bit of the lollipop had been crunched between her teeth and swallowed. The strawberry flavour was still thick on her tongue when a cool rush of liquid surged up her chest and spilled into her mouth so quickly that she didn't even have time to think about getting out of bed. Quinn clamped her mouth shut and dashed towards the bathroom. She was almost there and her stomach muscles contracted violently with another heave. There was nothing she could do but cup her hands and hope that none of it got on the floor. It filled them quickly and she used her hips to burst into the bathroom, collapsing to her knees to cough the rest of it out.

The carpet was clean but she thought some of it had to be on the linoleum of the bathroom floor. She had never felt filthier.

She was catching her breath and spitting intermittently into the toilet when Rachel walked in and put her hand upon her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I was on the phone. I didn't hear you."

"'s'okay," Quinn breathed out, not thinking to remind her that she'd asked to be alone. Her forehead rested heavily on her forearm and she raised her head after a moment, wanting to be clean and back in bed. She was just so tired that cleaning up and getting back to her feet seemed like such a hurdle. She had to prepare her body for it.

"Let me help you up." Rachel reached for Quinn's hand and felt the keen sting when it was wrenched it away out of range.

"When are you going to start listening to me?" Quinn asked objectionably, the back of her throat stinging. "I thought you were going to leave me alone."

"And I thought you were going to stop running your mouth when you were upset, so I guess we're both disappointed."

"It was covered in shit!" Quinn flashed her a hand that had been filled with vomit but couldn't look at her. "I haven't washed it yet. Do you really think I want you to touch it when it's been covered in vomit? Is it like a weird fetish of yours?" she asked rhetorically. "No, didn't think so."

Rachel's face softened with sympathy. "Quinn, I don't care. It doesn't matter, I can still—"

Her body tensed when Rachel moved as if to stand behind her and help her up. "It matters to me. Just… go. Please," Quinn begged after there was no movement. "Watch your step. I… didn't make it here in time. I'll clean it."

"I can do that."

"Rachel," she started stiffly. An exhale was enough to smooth the edge off her voice. "Please."

By the time Quinn had cleaned herself and the bathroom up there was a bucket by the side of the bed. She wanted to go and apologise but there hadn't been any energy to do anything but crawl back into bed and fall asleep almost right away.

The bedroom was dark when she woke up.

She clicked the lamp on and held her arm over her face, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the light gradually. The clock read almost two AM and there was a fresh bottle of water and a packet of saltines on the nightstand, tempting her the moment she laid eyes on them. When it wasn't twisting, her stomach growled for food. She wouldn't have given in yesterday but after three days and almost half a burger that didn't exactly stay down, Quinn was ready to break her hunger strike. She'd done it with the water and, as horrible as the outcome had been, her body was glad for the fluids.

Quinn was halfway through the second cracker when she realised that she wasn't either shivering or sweating to death. Her fever had broken.


	20. Dust

The next day Rachel only went into the spare room when she had to.

It was easier to manage once she saw that Quinn didn't look quite so poorly and had been asleep four out of the five times she went in there. The water and crackers were replaced when necessary and the corners of her mouth curved up each time she saw the empty packets.

Rachel was watching TV in the living room when Quinn walked around the corner looking freshly showered. Her eyes were no longer glassy. She still looked exhausted and uncomfortable, but it was different somehow.

Rachel turned the TV off and looked at her with a hopeful expression on her face. "Hi."

Some of Quinn's nervousness faded at the warm greeting. "Hi." She sat down on the opposite side of the couch and reclined until she had her head on Rachel's lap, allowing her damp hair to be played with. It was soothing. She could have stayed there for the rest of the night but after a minute Quinn sat up a little and turned her head. "Sorry, I forgot my hair wasn't dry. Do you want me to move?"

"I don't mind," Rachel assured, putting her hand back where it'd been once Quinn lay back down. "You look better today," she said.

"Yeah, I feel a little better." Quinn's hands rested on top of a book sitting atop her stomach. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Rachel, about everything I've said this week… all the horrible things, I'm so sorry." It wasn't Quinn who had said those things. The darkest part of her had said them; the darkness that all of her demons lived and thrived in. Withdrawal had said them. "I didn't mean them," Quinn insisted. "Any of them. I know you were only trying to help."

"I know," Rachel assured.

"You don't have to understand because I'm sick. If you're mad, I'd like you to be able to tell me."

"I was mad. You know, it wasn't okay. You hurt me and made me angry, and I told you about that each time it happened. But I'm not sitting here holding on to anything, Quinn. I promise. You warned me that you wouldn't be yourself."

"Okay," Quinn replied quietly. "But I would understand if you were."

Rachel's fingers raked through damp hair slowly. She noticed the book that Quinn had brought in with her. It wasn't one of Rachel's; the cover was too worn. While Rachel had many favourite books that she had read over and over again, she always replaced a copy once the spine got a little too worn for her liking and donated the older one to charity or a library.

"What are you reading?"

"I'm not, I— I was going to give this to you in a few days," Quinn said, her fingers smoothing over the cover that had curled on the right corner and had separated completely from the pages within. "It's one of my favourite things in the world."

Quinn looked up at Rachel to pass it over and it was accepted wordlessly.

Rachel looked at the cover and title. Little Women.

"You want me to have it, or read it?"

"Have it," Quinn said, looking close to a smile. "And read it, if you haven't already. I think you'd like it."

"Why?" Rachel asked; her voice softer with wonderment.

"Because I don't know how else to thank you for this. For everything."

She placed the book down on the arm of the couch and then lowered her hand again, instead holding the side of Quinn's face. "Well, you start off by saying the words 'thank' and 'you', and the other person will generally respond with one of about five typical phrases, but in this case only one is really appropriate."

"That's not for us. It's like, for when your neighbours turn your lights on at night when you're on vacation."

Rachel got a slight frown to her head. "Why wouldn't you just set a timer?"

"Not the point," Quinn challenged lightly, still exhausted. "And because they start fires."

"Just for now, let's say a thank you is enough. Okay, go."

There was undoubtedly a smile from Quinn that time, as small and tired as it was. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I want you to keep the book."

"Won't you miss it?" Rachel worried.

"I have three copies. That one is just…my favourite," Quinn said. "But I'll still see it, right? You'll let me come over again after all of this?" A soft giggle met her ears and settled warmly in her chest.

"Of course."

"Good."

When Rachel sobered she couldn't help but think of what Finn had told her yesterday. She knew it was a natural part of withdrawal —actually getting to a point where you physically have to escape, but with that came words of warning from Francis and it made her stomach twist. "So…how did it go with Finn yesterday?"

"Bad," Quinn admitted slowly, her head shaking afterwards. "I owe him an apology and some doughnuts, or something."

"What for?"

"I know you know," Quinn accused lightly. "I tried to leave. I had to get out, make it stop… it felt like the best idea I'd ever had."

"Do you still want to?"

"I don't want to lie to you, so unless you really want to know—"

"Do you still want to?"

"Yes," Quinn said calmly. "I'm…the cravings won't go away, Rachel."

Rachel nodded, sliding her hand down to Quinn's shoulder where she rubbed it. "No, I know. It's going to take a lot of time."

"A lot. I don't know if it fades with time, but right now the desire to use is so strong. Stronger than I can remember. It feels like something is clawing at my insides, you know? All I want to do is go over to the door and walk out of it."

"What's stopping you?"

"A lot of things," Quinn began. "You; our friends; my Mom, in a weird way; Beth; Jackson. There are a lot of people and a lot of reasons, but mostly me." She wouldn't have made it to day four without wanting it for herself, that much was for certain. "But part of me still wants to use so badly, you don't even know. I can't explain it. And I'm so scared that all of this will be for nothing."

"Did you think you'd get here?"

Quinn realised what Rachel was trying to say. "I know, but this is different."

"It's not different at all," Rachel promised. "You're a lot better than you know. You always have been."

"Rachel…"

"Can I do anything?" she asked quickly.

Quinn struggled for a response but ultimately let it go because she knew Rachel wouldn't. "Press fast-forward." Rachel smiled down at her and Quinn pressed on. "No, I'm serious. I am actually curious about this time next year."

"I'm going to remember that."

"I didn't ask you to remember anything."

"You're right, I'm sorry. Sincerely," Rachel proclaimed, pulling the TV remote from underneath a thigh. She pointed it at Quinn, making a show of pushing the fast-forward button several times with varying degrees of vigor. She clicked her tongue and shook her head in dismay. "It's not working." Rachel slapped the remote against the palm of her other hand and pointed it to various parts of Quinn's body as she tried again. "Nope."

"You are such an idiot," Quinn commented, ineffective in trying not to grin.

"Wait, I've got it."

She watched Rachel drop the remote and then close her eyes. It took a second for her to catch up but she got there. "Are you tapping into your powers for me?"

"Shhh," Rachel demanded, sliding her hand over Quinn's mouth. "I need complete silence."

Quinn pulled it away but held it on her sternum. She didn't actually believe in any of that sort of stuff but she liked to look at Rachel and she also didn't want to spoil her fun, so she didn't say anything. Her eyes moved intently over Rachel's face and felt her own lips quirk upwards again when she saw a hint of a smile.

Rachel opened her eyes no longer than half a minute later, looking coy when she set eyes on the curious face staring up at her. "Wow."

"That good?"

"Better."

Quinn squeezed the end of Rachel's thumb. "Tell me. I need something to look forward to."

"That would be irresponsible. What if I alter the future? It has a knock-on effect. I mean, _mine_ could change. Irreparable damage for both of us. I can't be responsible for that."

"You're saving your own skin?"

"For the sake of my loved ones."

"You'd survive a horror movie, you know that?" Quinn said. "Probably all the sequels, too."

"Quinn, if a deadly weapon was ever brandished in front of my face, I would be forced to defend myself. That's just life."

Quinn picked up the remote and it was pointed at Rachel this time. "I'm muting you, prepare yourself," she warned, punching one button in particular.

"What?" Rachel mouthed, loving the tired smile she got out of Quinn. "I didn't hear you, what'd you say?" Quinn glanced down to their hands but Rachel didn't take her eyes away from her. "I love you," she mouthed, lightly pursing her lips and looking away when Quinn glanced up and caught only the end of it.

"What?" Quinn asked suspiciously. "Were you being mean? Don't be mean, I can't take it."

Rachel just shook her head.

Quinn's wariness waned when she heard the noisy growl to Rachel's stomach. "Did you have dinner?"

"No," Rachel answered. "I made it but then I wasn't hungry. Obviously my stomach has other ideas now. I put it in the fridge."

Quinn sat up. "What is it? I'll get it."

"You should be resting. You must feel like you were hit by a car."

"A bus. But I've been in bed for four days."

"That wasn't really resting, Quinn."

"I know— let me do this tiny thing for you?"

Rachel conceded just this once. "It's the pasta salad on the middle shelf."

Quinn got to her feet slowly and padded over to the kitchen, grabbing the plate out of the fridge and a fork out of the utensils drawer. She presented the plate to Rachel first, and then the fork; opting to sit up next to her while she ate. Rachel held her plate out of the way and urged Quinn to reclaim her spot.

"I don't want that plate on my head," Quinn said.

"I'll be careful." Rachel put the plate on the arm of the couch and pulled it as high up as she could, not wanting to be rude by reaching over Quinn's face each time. Halfway through her meal she stabbed some pasta onto her fork and looked down to Quinn who had her eyes closed. "Do you want some?"

"Some of what?"

"The pasta, obviously."

"Is it good?"

"I cooked it."

Quinn smiled, opening her eyes. She was starving but nervous. "Just a small bite. Tiny. I know the crackers were a success but I don't want to chance another episode." If she was never ill again it would still be too soon.

Rachel took a couple of pieces of pasta off the loaded fork and brought it to Quinn's mouth, which remained closed. "Are you waiting for me to do the airplane?"

"I'm just thinking. I haven't thrown up today, and I've rinsed my mouth and brushed my teeth too many times to count over the past few days, but I would— I would feel really gross if I ate off that fork and you had to use it afterwards."

"Do I have to tell you how ridiculous you're being, or was my incredulous expression enough?"

"Save me some."

Rachel went back to her dinner. "I don't know, it's pretty good. I might forget." She exaggerated a moan during her next mouthful and Quinn took the fork out of her hand, pushing a tiny portion of pasta to the side of the plate away from the rest of it.

A little while later Quinn's eyes grew heavy, comfortable where she lay. "Sorry if I fall asleep on you. I've been asleep most of the day but I'm still so tired."

"Before you do," Rachel started, scraping the last of the food onto the fork. "Open your mouth. You don't have to open your eyes."

There was a natural instinct to open her eyes but Quinn kept them shut and brought her hand up, touching her fingers to Rachel's arm as it moved closer to her. "I'm trusting you."

"Have I not proven myself to be trustworthy by now?"

Before she could respond, the fork was inside her mouth and she closed her lips around it, taking the food as Rachel drew her arm back. She sighed. Real food. Real fucking food. It was better than she remembered it. If this, too, was a success then tomorrow would see her feast. "That was worth fasting for."

Rachel had been watching her closely. "For four days?"

"Apparently."

"I can make you some. I still have all the ingredients."

Quinn made a vague sound of protest, blinding reaching for Rachel's hand. She almost knocked the plate off the arm of the couch and that was enough of a prompt for Rachel to meet her halfway. "Stay."

"Are you going to sleep?" Rachel asked as she watched the expression and tension on Quinn's face begin slip away. There was a slight nod and then nothing, and Rachel couldn't tear her eyes away.

X

The sun felt wonderful against her skin.

After spending days inside the apartment, fresh air in the middle of a mild day for the time of year was a luxury Quinn had missed, as well as being able to eat an entire meal without her appetite slashed by the drugs in her system. Lunch had been a success; she'd finished a bowl of soup and was on a second bread roll.

"It's nice to be out here," she said, swiping a chunk of the roll against what was left of Rachel's soup in the otherwise empty bowl. "I was getting cabin fever."

"Oh my God, I know." Rachel hated being cooped up anywhere for too long. The meeting with her bosses had been a respite she desperately needed, however much she had been worrying about Quinn at the time. It was good to be around other people and remember that there was so much life all around her, so many people who had overcome the hardest days of their lives and were now out living the rest of it.

"Yeah?" Quinn said around a mouthful, swallowing before she said, "Are you cured now?"

"Getting there."

"Glad to hear it."

"You've been pretty quiet today," Rachel remarked.

"I've been thinking," Quinn explained. "About what happens next."

"You know, you can stay here. You don't have to go back to your apartment." Going back to her apartment was arguably the worst thing that Quinn could do. There was no way Rachel would ever feel comfortable about her doing that.

"Wouldn't it— thank you, that's really nice of you, but wouldn't it be weird?"

"Why would it be weird? You're already here. It's not weird for you to be here now, is it?"

"Not at all, but… I've been a terrible guest," Quinn admitted. "And we still have a lot to talk about. Staying here…it might make things awkward."

"I appreciate your brutal honesty, Quinn, but I think you're worrying over nothing. It would be a temporary situation. I'm not asking you to move in," Rachel smiled. "I'm just— letting you know that if this is an environment you feel safe and comfortable in, there's no check-out date. Whenever you're ready."

Quinn had the same look on her face as any other time Rachel was effortlessly kind to her and she didn't know how to say thank you. It was just as well that she'd been taught about that the night before. Keep it simple, for now. "Thank you. I do feel safe and comfortable here."

Rachel leaned forward in anticipation. "Is that a yes?"

Quinn seemed amused at the display of excitement. "Yes."

"This is going to be so much fun!" Rachel tried to go for a serious face. She failed spectacularly. "But there is a catch."

"Oh?"

"You have to help me clean up around here. I don't like mess but I also don't like to clean it up."

Finally, an admission.

"Yeah, I know that," Quinn smiled.

"It cuts into my creative time."

"Right."

"I'm being serious," Rachel insisted. "Do you know what a creatively stunted Rachel Berry looks like? It's not pretty, I can reveal that much."

"Is that even possible?" Quinn asked, finishing her roll and sweeping any excess crumbs into her hand to put into the bowl. They didn't need any extra visits from pigeons.

Rachel flushed warmly at that. "Just wait until you experience it first-hand. It's easily achievable, I promise."

"I don't know about that."

"You will."

Rachel was quite obviously wrong but Quinn would let her have it, for now. She was almost speechless with the gratitude she felt towards her then. Going back to her apartment had been something that had played on her mind heavily over the past couple of days and she was dreading it. There were too many habits in that apartment. Too many things she associated with using. She needed to break away from that old environment completely and not be on her own right away. Feeling confident and strong enough to be by herself would undoubtedly be something to work towards.

After a moment, Quinn broke the comfortable silence. "I'm going to get on some lists," she announced, meeting Rachel's eyes. "I know I have things to work through and deal with, talking with someone is a good idea. And I don't think a support group is a terrible idea, either. As much as you help me and you do understand, there's always going to be a part of you that can't understand completely, and I'll need that. And that's not a dig at you. You're so amazing—"

"No, I— I understand. I really do," Rachel cut in, her voice softened through shock. She blinked to soothe the way her eyes had begun to prickle. Everything was coming together. She'd wanted this for Quinn for so long and she hadn't had to force it, or even mention it. "I think that's a great idea." She lifted her water glass. "I think we should toast."

"To you?" Quinn followed suit and spotted an eye-roll.

"To you, and to Jackson."

Quinn bit down on her bottom lip. There was a pang in her chest at the mention of his name. She nodded. "To you," she stressed. "Me, Jackson, and our friends who have supported us and brought enough food that we're not going to need to go shopping for groceries for the next month."

Rachel laughed but nodded in agreement. "And the future."

Their glasses clinked.

"The future you're still being tight-lipped about?"

"Saving, and yes."

"Okay, just checking." The way Rachel looked at her made Quinn's heart slow, warm all over. She clung to the moment for as long as she could, selfishly never wanting moments like this to stop. It had been so long since she'd felt anything close to this. "I know we still have a lot to talk about. I haven't forgotten. I just think it would be better if—" Rachel cut her off abruptly.

"Quinn, the most important thing right now is for you to concentrate on staying better. I wasn't expecting all of our baggage to drop off overnight. I want… I want everything, just…at the right time," she said. "That's not to say I'm not thinking about things," she admitted. Rachel wanted Quinn —in any and every capacity— more than she could remember wanting anyone. "But there's no rush, okay?"

It was good to know that they were both on the same page.

Quinn knew that she would have to do a lot more than be clean for five days to feel worthy enough to be with Rachel. There were a lot of issues —past and present— that she had to work through first. But for once, the idea of facing them didn't terrify her to the point that she would turn away.

Rachel's phone sounded on the table next to them and she apologised before picking it up to see a new text message. "It's Mercedes," she said, smiling as she read on. "They're all at her place —the rental, it's huge— and they want us to know that they're proud of us, but when are we going to hang out together again because we're missed. Dinner reservations have been thrown out there."

Quinn had expected to see her friends again soon, and very much wanted to, but she figured it would be in a more private setting. "Not a club…?"

"No, just dinner. Somewhere really small and quiet where our party will take up most of the room. What do you think about that?"

"Not yet. I'm sorry, I don't mean to suck the fun… I just don't know about that so soon. Maybe—maybe Mercedes wouldn't mind a dinner party over there? We could do it tomorrow if that's a good time for everyone."

Rachel had been to a dinner party hosted by Sam and Mercedes before. Mercedes would panic and fret over every little detail and Sam would be relaxed about the whole thing. Perhaps a little too laid-back. But as long as people got fed and the drinks flowed, that was all that mattered to him. He didn't have the time or energy to care about presentation and the good china and silverware being laid out correctly. As they weren't at home in LA, they would have to make-do with a lot of things. That could work in Quinn and Rachel's favour.

"No, don't be sorry. That could work. I'll ask," Rachel said, typing a response to her friend at the same time as she added, "And if anyone asks, you need me to accompany you outside for some air when Mercedes will inevitably bring out the cheese platter. She does it every time."

Quinn looked charmed. "Okay."

Rachel stopped composing her message to Mercedes when she saw that the text had stopped, frozen on screen until Mercedes' beautiful smiling face took over Rachel's screen signalling an incoming call. Rachel had taken that photo of her the last time she'd visited LA and they'd gone out for a girl's day.

"Oh, she's calling," she said, like it wasn't obvious enough by the ringtone. The call was accepted quickly. "Hi!" Rachel glanced at Quinn when a certain question was asked. "Good. Really good." She laughed. "Soon. I just have to find the costume from that Halloween in college and drive out there." She paused and listened. "I always call at five o'clock. I was going to call you later with an update. I was! Anyway, wait, do you want me to tell you, or would you rather hear it straight from the source?" Rachel hesitated after the loud acceptance. She covered the mouthpiece and looked at Quinn. "Is that okay?"

"What?"

"Will you talk to her?" Rachel asked that as if Mercedes was a telemarketer.

Quinn swallowed some water and put her glass back down, reaching for the phone with the other hand. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mama," Mercedes drawled, gaining a smile. "I've missed you. How are you doing?"

"I missed you too. And I feel like crap," Quinn admitted, still recovering physically. "But I'm— wait, is everyone there?"

"Uh, almost. Finn and Puck are in the kitchen, no surprise there. Why?"

"Call them over. And then put it on speakerphone and ask me again." She heard Mercedes shout them over and then Brittany ask what was going on from somewhere close by, indicating that they were on speaker. "Okay, Quinn, everyone's here." There was a chorus of greetings. "How are you doing?"

Quinn looked to Rachel, unable to repress a grin at the news. "I'm clean," she said. "Completely and officially clean." Her eyes started to fill the moment the words were out of her mouth and she heard the loud cheers and hollers from her friends. It had been such a long time since she was proud of herself, that she'd had any accomplishment whatsoever, and she knew she wouldn't have gotten anywhere close to that without Rachel and their friends and the strength they'd given her.

X

Though staying with Rachel was only a temporary situation, it was decided that the best thing to do was to pack up Quinn's apartment and transport her things over to Rachel's place. Neither of them thought it would be a good idea for Quinn to have to go back to that environment after moving on, so they were about to make the first trip out in public since Quinn had gotten clean.

Dinner with Mercedes and the gang was set for just under three hours' time.

It wouldn't take long to pack Quinn's belongings; except for the couch and bed, most of the furniture had come with the apartment and she didn't have much she wanted to take with her, anyway. Not even the couch. It would take a couple of hours at most, halved if Rachel lent a hand, which she naturally jumped at the chance of doing.

Rachel was the first one ready. She stood waiting by the door, as if her anxious behaviour all day hadn't been a big enough clue as to how much she wanted this part over. "Quinn, do you want your jacket? It's pretty warm out this week, though; no doubt a result of global warming. I don't think you'll need it."

It was an overcast but mild late October day; Quinn absolutely didn't need a leather jacket. Maybe at night when there was a bit of a bite to the air, but not during the day. "No, that's okay."

"Okay, so we can go now?" Rachel asked eagerly, stood in front of the door.

"Just a second," Quinn called, making sure she had her keys. She saw Rachel spot the movement. "Not that. Before we leave, I just want you to know that I feel ready to be doing this. The past few years, my place has sort of felt like a prison in a lot of ways. Not all…but a lot. And today, instead of being crippled with fear, I feel like it's release day and I'm so hopeful and excited," she said, her eyes brighter than Rachel had seen in years. "I feel ready —to get better rather than just getting clean. I know this is only the beginning and I still have a long way to go. I'm not kidding myself or putting crazy expectations on myself, I'm just going to take it slow. I mean, if these past six days have taught me anything it's the cheesy but true phrase that anything is possible. I can do anything."

Rachel had promptly burst into a tearful smile. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Quinn, who laughed at the passionate response. "I'm glad you caught up."

"It took me a while."

"It doesn't matter," Rachel said, squeezing Quinn against her. All that mattered was that she had got there. All that mattered was that Quinn was in the driver's seat again.

They hadn't been this close for days and she slowly but surely felt a shift in the moment. The arms she had wrapped around Quinn moved from where they'd been locked around her, hands leisurely moving over Quinn's back because she wanted to feel her for selfish reasons instead of selfless. Everything she'd wanted was falling into place so perfectly and the clean, drug-free future she wanted with Quinn was no longer a fantasy for some non-specified point in time, it was soon. Quinn had done it. Perhaps it still wasn't the most perfect time to begin a new relationship yet, but it was a hell of a lot better timing than they'd had so far. That in itself was a rush.

It then came in the way of Quinn's arms, so completely lacking the hesitancy she had once embraced Rachel with, slackening. Rachel felt a light press of Quinn's hand at the small of her back. It didn't do much else but hold her in place at first, but Quinn must have also been considering the possibilities of the future because it wasn't terribly long until she had both of her hands there.

Sure enough, after a minute that didn't feel like nearly enough, their bodies weren't close enough; too still or too vertical, it didn't matter which way they thought about it. Rachel's lips parted when Quinn's hands tightened and pulled, aligning their bodies tighter together. Quinn turned her head and grazed Rachel's hair with her nose, and when Rachel turned towards her she then kissed her face, detaching an arm from around Quinn's shoulder to slide up and hold her head.

Quinn's eyes were darker, more serious when Rachel looked at them. If she looked in a mirror she would see that it was something they had in common.

She looked to Quinn's mouth and waited for a short battle of conscience to pass before leaning in to join theirs together. Each time they would come close enough to a real kiss, one she would feel throughout her entire body, she or Quinn would draw back again. She could feel Quinn's breath as it came out in long, steady bursts and Rachel could feel her own body; heated by a sudden rush of arousal, and reluctantly began to separate from the pull and temptation that Quinn had over her. Before she could extract herself completely, she made the mistake of looking Quinn in the eyes again and then there were no more thoughts of moving away, only closer.

"We're not supposed to be doing this yet," she reminded Quinn half-heartedly.

"I know. So, if you don't want to do this, you're going to have to step away. I can't do it."

Rachel couldn't either, and it was mere seconds before she found herself gently backed into the door with Quinn's mouth coming down on hers.

Rachel surrendered instantly, bringing her hands up to Quinn's head. The contact fried both of their senses for a moment and then things had never been clearer. Quinn's mouth was more demanding than she was expecting and she flexed her fingers against the head she was holding, pushing up on her toes to slide an extra couple of inches up the door and return everything she was currently getting. Quinn had a way of kissing her that made Rachel feel it everywhere; her body shocked alive with the delicious friction of their mouths, her brain all but short-circuiting whenever each of them deepened it.

She could only stay on her toes for so long and eventually lowered back to her heel, pulling Quinn with her; one hand dropping lower to settle on Quinn's back in order to keep her exactly where she was. They kissed over and over again, each with varying degrees of fervour, and then Quinn's head dipped, kissing a path to a smooth, soft neck that she craved to taste.

She pressed her mouth to Rachel's neck and let her tongue taste the warm skin, rewarded with the beginnings of heavier breath. She wanted to do it again; longer, harder, softer, in different places, but if things got much more heated it was likely to make them late for dinner with their friends and she didn't want that.

They could finish this another time.

Rachel returned a long, soft kiss, and then felt Quinn pepper her lips with one last peck before she pulled away.

Quinn had to clear her throat. "We should go," reluctantly left her mouth, watching Rachel take her bottom lip into her mouth with her eyes still closed. "Before we…"

Rachel's heart pumped quickly and opening her eyes to the sight in front of her only added to the adrenaline.

X

Rachel's regular driver, Andrew, ended up driving the truck.

Quinn thought renting a truck, however small it may have been, was an unnecessary precaution but Rachel insisted. It was less hassle all around to have too much space rather than not enough. There was always more stuff hidden away in drawers and closets and cupboards than anyone thinks. It's only when packing that anybody realises how much stuff they have, of which at least a third of it has gone unused for a year or more, and she would not be blamed for anything getting broken or damaged. There was more than enough bubble wrap and space in the van for everything to be transported safely.

They weren't overly affectionate with each other in the van. Physically, anyway. It might have been awkward for Andrew to have to drive with them up front if they did, and seeing as he had responded to an unscheduled call on his day off, neither of them wanted to do anything to make him regret it. They did hold hands at times, though, and talked to each other like he wasn't there.

As soon as they entered Quinn's neighbourhood, Rachel re-joined their hands and felt Quinn interlock their fingers.

When they pulled up outside the apartment block, Rachel gave her a supportive smile. "Are you ready?"

Quinn looked at the building with disdain, slowly nodding her consent. She never wanted to be there again. It didn't feel like home anymore.

Andrew turned and leaned forward to see past Rachel —who also sat twisted in her seat— to look at Quinn. "Do you need any help?"

"Thank you, but I think we've got it," Quinn declined.

Rachel held men and women equally in her mind but there was no denying that she cashed in on the strength of the male form when she needed to. She and Quinn could absolutely manage if they had to, but if there was a willing male on the side lines, why should they waste energy they could be saving for later? She moved to smile her thanks and made a mental note to bring it up to Quinn when they were alone.

As Quinn checked the street and then opened the door, sliding out smoothly, Rachel offered some advice to her driver. "Lock the doors as soon as we're gone and check the mirrors for any suspicious activity. If you feel threatened, I want you to call the police immediately. If the windows are subsequently smashed at the sight of your five-hundred dollar phone, I put a taser on the visor above your head," she stated. Cheeriness brightened her eyes and tone. "Okay, we'll see you soon."

Rachel moved out of the van, sliding enticingly against Quinn who had held the door open and was waiting patiently. There was a flirtatious look in her eyes before it was broken by her phone ringing. Andrew held it out for her and she didn't move away from Quinn as she accepted it. Her face broke out into an uncontrollable smile and Quinn knew what that meant right away.

"It's my Dad!" Rachel held her finger up. "Just…two minutes, please? Please? I know we're busy but I need to tell them the good news. They need some good news. They're so sad that I'm across the country for most of the year."

Quinn rolled her eyes light-heartedly. She hardly thought Rachel needed _permission_ to talk to her parents, even if it was an important time. Spreading the good news was also important. And there was no uncertainty of how important Rachel's fathers were to her. "Yeah, okay."

Rachel kissed her quickly, too fast to be able to respond properly —or at all.

"Ten minutes."

"You just said…" Quinn trailed off as Rachel jumped back up into the truck and answered the phone excitedly. "I'll carry on."

"Hang on," Rachel said into the phone and then focused her attention on Quinn. "Wait with me, I won't be long."

"I should get started."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to do this alone and I'll be here talking about you, saying a lot of nice things while Andrew here fails spectacularly in not eavesdropping."

"I'm sure," Quinn smirked. "Will you bring those two suitcases with you? I can get all the boxes and the other case."

Rachel nodded. "Don't do too much."

"I won't if you're really only ten minutes," Quinn said, prompting a smile.

"I will be, I promise. Maybe less."

Quinn was sceptical but knew that Rachel would make up for whatever time she missed, anyway. A car drove past them and a recent heavy rain shower caused the water to spray up from the road behind the tyres. The sound reminded her that she had to get going to start the rest of her life.

"I believe you."

"I promise!" Rachel vowed passionately as Quinn closed the door.

"Bye!" Quinn called back.

It felt surreal to stand in her apartment and know that it was for the last time.

She would never live there again, never eat or sleep there, never complete her hygiene routine in the bathroom again. She would never cook or clean in there again, never fall asleep on that particular couch watching TV late at night. It did indeed feel surreal. It also felt like a crushing weight had been lifted.

Quinn decided to start in the bedroom first of all.

The closet felt like the right place to start.

It was a little tidier in there, she noticed. Finn and Mercedes took the extra time to put things back properly and in order and she appreciated it. It was all going to come out anyway but it was nice to see organisation. It would make it easier to separate her clothes into piles. She took everything off the hangers and threw them into a separate pile on the floor for them to be boxed up later, concentrating on putting loads of clothes into piles of organised items first.

Quinn filled one medium sized suitcase with clothes and carried the rest of them out of her room and placed them on the couch ready for when Rachel came up with the other cases. She had turned her wrist over to check the time when there was a knock at the door. Quinn smiled. She'd rushed to pack, certainly hadn't folded anything neatly and precisely in her haste to leave, and Rachel had only been eight minutes.

There were things in the bottom of her closet and some winter coats and scarves that she just never got rid of. She'd need to finish packing those things next. She could do that while Rachel got started in the living area. Even the mere thought of packing up her things —having Rachel be there— made Quinn happy. She couldn't wait for dinner with their friends. Besides the obvious way in which she was excited to see them, without the drugs in her system Quinn's appetite was well and truly back. And if she remembered correctly, Mercedes was a good cook, even in high school.

Quinn hurried over to the door and tugged on it harshly so that it didn't have chance to stick.

"I thought you'd be longer," she said, amused at Rachel's successful time-keeping for once. Any amusement disappeared when she saw that it wasn't Rachel at all. There was a moment, perhaps too long, that her breath got caught in her throat and she stood unmoving.

"Really?" Francis asked. "Because I've been waiting for you for ages. Where've you been?"

His presence was so demanding that Quinn found her chest contracting and expanding faster. He was the last person she had expected. "What do you want?"

"Where have you been?"

Quinn asked it a little more forcibly this time. "What do you want?"

"I want to come in, actually. Where are your manners?"

Quinn held on to the door more tightly. "I'm busy; we'll have to do this another time. Come over tomorrow."

Francis chuckled. "Oh, tomorrow? You'll be here, will you?"

"Yes."

"Right," Francis nodded, walking forward to push his way inside the apartment. She brought both arms up to push the door back on him but he easily overpowered her and laughed for the second time when he spotted the boxes and piles of clothes, and then his eyes fixed to hers. "Ding, ding, ding. What prize do I get?"

Quinn's face heated and she couldn't stand the way her heart beat harder. He couldn't be there. Rachel would be up any second.

"Get out."

"What could all of this mean, hmm? Francis asked.

"I'm moving."

"Yeah? Where?" Quinn was silent. "Let me guess, your girlfriend has convinced you to do this."

"It's my decision," Quinn asserted. "I want to get better. Completely."

Francis looked at her closely. There were many distinct changes but ultimately it was the look in her eyes that cleared everything up for him. He was in disbelief. "You're clean?"

"Yes. It's been six days."

"Wow." That wasn't condescending. He was genuinely stunned for a moment. She always called him begging when she was in withdrawal. "Congratulations. I hear H withdrawal is worse than hell."

It was. But she was on the other side of it now.

Quinn nodded. "I'll see you around, though," she lied, heavily implying for him to leave. Time was ticking.

Francis picked up one of Quinn's dresses, admiring it. She always looked good when she wore it. He dropped it back down to the pile without folding it. "There's no need to bullshit me, Quinn. You can always be honest with me."

"I really want to stay on track," she said. "I can't—I can't be around that kind of stuff anymore."

"Of course you can't. It's too dangerous; I understand." Francis circled her and went back over to the door. Instead of walking out, he closed it. "Never underestimate a nosy neighbour," he explained.

"Francis."

"Don't worry; I don't plan on staying for long. I just want to know how you think you'll manage the temptation. I mean, a round of applause for getting clean. That takes some serious determination. But staying clean? That's when things really get tough, I can tell you."

"I don't _need_ you to tell me," Quinn said. "What I need is for you to go. You have plenty of clients, plenty of ways to make money. You don't need mine."

"You're right, I don't. But you, Quinn, you are…somewhat a favourite of mine. You know this. It doesn't feel right to part so suddenly, and on such bad terms. We can do better than that."

"I'm not fucking you."

Francis dipped his head under her firm gaze. "Nice to know that's the first thing on your mind," he said with a grating smile. "But no, I was thinking something…something a little grander. You remember the first night you came over to my place? After the sex, remember how good I made you feel again? I know you do. Nobody forgets their first hit. You were out of it for hours. When you did make it out of bed, and after you were sick, you just crouched down and rocked for the longest time. And I did that for you. I made you feel that good. That was our hello —our real hello. It only seems fitting that our goodbye goes the same way."

Quinn suddenly felt hot all over, fear manifesting itself physically. It was written all over her face. She didn't want it. Honestly. But there was still temptation and having it offered and knowing what Francis was like when he didn't get his own way, that was what truly terrified Quinn.

"I don't want it." Her voice shook.

"I told you: you can be honest."

"I am being honest. I want you to go."

Francis nodded sadly. "I see. And this is your decision? It doesn't have anything to do with the hot little brunette sitting with a prick in a dress shirt in a van outside? The one from that night at the party." He could clearly see Quinn getting worked up. "Famous singer, Rachel Berry," he said, and Quinn looked about a second away from exploding. "You disappointed me there, you know. I know you've been a naughty girl and stolen from friends before; you practically had a bank at your disposal. But anyway, I'm going to bet all of the money in mine that this new Quinn is a direct result from Rachel Berry's orders. What'd she do? Give you an ultimatum? That's not a good person to have in your life."

"She's not Rachel Berry," Quinn claimed unsteadily. "But they look alike, so she gets it a lot."

"That's just weak," Francis stated. "Even if I hadn't gotten all the confirmation I needed last week straight from the source."

"You did what?"

"She didn't tell you? What a rascal. Well, I was looking for you, 'cause I hadn't seen you in a good while and I found out that your friend passed —condolences, by the way, so I came over. Only instead of your gorgeous face when the door opened, I saw hers."

Quinn felt nausea swirling inside. She breathed heavier and silence stretched on for an extended moment while she fought against a visual attack of what could have happened. "If you did anything to her…"

Francis scoffed at the insinuation. "What would I have done? I may be a little forceful at times but I don't touch women like that. We talked; about you, actually. She has a mouth on her, that's for sure. And she doesn't like a few home truths. I don't think they sat right with her." The way that so many people failed in hiding their emotions had always amused Francis. Quinn was showing him all her cards by looking so furious. She was giving him all of the control and she probably didn't even know it. "She kicked me, actually," he revealed, able to find the humour in the memory. "Right in the balls. Smarted like a bitch."

"If you touched her—"

"I just told you I didn't," he cut in. "I wanted to. I wanted to slam that pretty head against the kitchen tiles. But I have restraint; something Rachel Berry clearly lacks."

"Get out," Quinn commanded. "And if you make the mistake of going near her again, you'll be spitting out your teeth."

Francis let that threat settle.

"Listen to me, you know who I am and what I do, which also means you know that I don't retaliate unless I've been attacked first. Now, by anyone's standards, you and Rachel both swung out first. You're trying to leave, for God's sake. What kind of message would it send to all my other clients if they found out about this?"

Quinn steeled her jaw, fidgeting where she stood while adrenaline coursed through her like lightning. That reaction was instantly replaced with cold terror when she saw him pull a capped syringe out of his pocket. A breath whooshed out from her lips.

"A present, love," Francis declared. "But I'm going to be nice. This can either be for you, or it can be for your girlfriend."

Fear always settled in the limbs and her feet suddenly felt like concrete blocks. Quinn managed to shake her head instead. Her head might not have wanted the heroin but her body certainly did. It had only been six days; it still wanted it. Her body would probably always want it to some degree. "Get out. You don't have to do this."

"I do, because you made me. You both brought this on yourselves. So, what'll it be?" The prolonged eye-contact told him that Quinn was restraining herself impressively but being as there was no immediate volunteer he took the silence as he wanted to. He turned and stepped back, his hand making contact with the handle. "I wonder if Rachel's finished her call by now. She might even be on her way up here."

Without thinking, Quinn rushed towards him in naïve hope of preventing a disaster. What she didn't consider during that split second was what would happen to her. Francis grabbed on to her.

"Good girl."

It was then that Quinn realised what she'd done. Her eyes widened and she began to struggle against him. "Francis," she whispered, panicked.

"Shhh, I know." His soothing voice only succeeding in making her feel defeated.

"Please, I'm clean."

"Then it's time you got nice and dirty again."

Francis held on to Quinn tighter when she used more strength, using his power to his advantage when she nearly managed to pull away. His weight overpowered Quinn and he walked her backwards until they toppled over to the floor where he locked his legs either side of her hips to avoid the thrashing of her legs. Francis forced Quinn's right arm above her head so that his torso and weight would prevent so much movement from her.

"Francis, _don't_ ," Quinn's trembling voice was laced with fear. Her eyes filled rapidly, pushing and clawing at him with no success. He reached across her to uncap the syringe and hold down her right arm more firmly.

"It's a good, strong dose, Quinn, don't you worry."

Quinn struggled against him harder and he pressed down more heavily, squeezing her arm more tightly. "Francis, please don't! I'm clean, it's too much!" She felt a sharp scratch on the inside of her elbow, more painful because of the lack of care as Francis forced it underneath her skin and emptied the contents of the syringe into her bloodstream.

Quinn gasped in horror, terror sweeping over her in an ice-cold wave. She tried to push him off and out of the way so that she could rip the needle out of her arm but he was too solid against her. He wouldn't move anywhere unless he wanted to. Tears leaked from her eyes and she thought of how much effort on her part had just gone to waste, that the way she fought against him was a sure indication of how much she wanted to live, and Rachel; of how she would find her like this after the promise made just before leaving and how Rachel would never, ever forgive her. She would hate her, truly. Rachel would never know that she—

With no warning whatsoever, Quinn felt an intense tingling sensation at her skull, rapidly spreading down her body and bringing with it the most profound sense of peace she could ever remember feeling. Her limbs slowly stopped thrashing.

Francis moved back and Quinn remained on the floor, staring up at him with rapidly glazing eyes. He watched her for a minute, watching as the effects took over her body one by one, and then he helped her to a sitting position where her head lolled.

"How are the stars?"

Quinn didn't speak. She didn't hear him.

Francis let her go and she tipped backwards, hitting the floor hard. Her body was slack; easily manipulatable, and he planted one foot against the floor prior to hoisting Quinn up and heading towards the bedroom. He passed the hangers on the floor and the few items of clothing on the bed, placing her down gently.

He looked at her with resigned regret. He didn't want to have to do that but he didn't have a choice. If she was making threats and about to leave then there was nothing else he could have done.

Quinn's breathing began to slow.

No matter how evil and vicious his actions, Francis didn't want to watch this.

"I'll put the shower on," he said. "That way when Rachel comes up here, she's going to think you're in the bathroom. There'll be no blaming herself. By the time she finds you, it'll be too late. She'll just blame you." Francis stroked Quinn's hair. Death was the better option. She wouldn't have to leave him a second time. She wouldn't have to wake up and deal with withdrawal again. Battling that again so soon would wreck Quinn from the inside out. "'Night, love."

Francis closed both of the doors he walked out of quietly, and made his way out of the building without any great effort to rush. The elevator was slow getting down to the ground floor and he spotted the same van and its occupants almost exactly where he'd seen them on his way up there, only this time Rachel's door was open and she was telling someone on the other end of the phone that she really had to go. She sounded happy.

Joining a group of teenagers as they walked past, Francis couldn't resist a subtle turn of his head to catch a glimpse of Rachel as he passed by without her ever having the slightest clue. She looked happy.

X

Rachel jiggled the key in the lock for what felt like the hundredth time. It was hardly an infrequent occurrence and so it had stopped annoying her a long time ago. Now she expected her arrival to be delayed for no less than half a minute by a faulty lock. However, this time wasn't like any of the others. No, this time was different because it would be the last time she'd ever be standing at 8E, jiggling a key into the stuck lock.

With two harsh kicks to the door, matched in time to the key moving around, it swung open.

Dragging two large, empty suitcases inside the apartment with her, Rachel kicked the door closed. She heard the shower running as she took in the piles of clothes and belongings on the couch and table waiting to be packed, wasting no time as she began to fill the cases. She didn't want to be there any longer than she had to. It was a new start.

Rachel was an efficient packer. She knew how to fold clothes properly so as to not crease and which order to put them in terms of size or bulk so that there was little to no possibility of having to sit on the case in order to close it.

They would have to make several trips to the truck and, her nose crinkled, use the elevator judging by the weight of both cases. She couldn't even lift them more than a couple of inches. Thank goodness for the wheels.

Rachel was organising the CDs and records, transporting them across the apartment to nearer the door so that they were ready to be taken downstairs when she realised that the shower was still running.

It was a strange time for a shower but she didn't think much of it when her head was so full of other things. Mainly the future.

"Hey, are you almost done?" Rachel called out loudly. "I've almost finished packing up your stuff out here but I don't know what to do with some things, so you're going to have to tell me what I can throw out. Hopefully everything I don't like," was muttered as she stared at a Pink Floyd record.

Rachel flipped it over and was reading over the track list, noting which songs she hated less than others, when something dropped to the floor in the bedroom. It went in one ear and out the other.

She moved the last pile of records over to the door and glanced at the time. "Quinn, we don't have all day! I have a bathroom at my place, remember? With clean running water instead of whatever garbage I'm sure comes out of your shower head. You'll probably catch something."

The kitchen didn't have anything that either Quinn or Rachel wanted to take. The appliances were hardly state of the art and Rachel had everything they needed, including things they didn't. She'd never once made her own pasta —and never would— but she kept a pasta machine because it made her feel closer to her Daddy and like she could be a Michelin style chef if she had the time to cook to that standard, which she didn't. But if she did, there was no doubt she'd excel in the kitchen too.

The only thing Rachel wanted to take from the kitchen was the instant coffee in the cupboard. Not that it affected her personally, but the jar at her apartment was almost empty. She'd had diner coffee better than that. Motor oil probably tasted better.

Rachel went back over to the entertainment rack in the living area and was contented with the half-emptiness of it. She began to pull books off the other end. She didn't think they were organised in any sort of order but made piles in the exact order she'd pulled them off the shelf, just in case.

It had only been a couple of minutes since she'd shouted Quinn but Rachel was eager to get gone and the shower was still running. Her brows crinkled once more in confusion. The timing of Quinn's personal hygiene routine was awful; spectacularly so.

"Quinn!" Rachel sighed walked over to the bathroom, knocking on the door. "Are you particular about your books or can I pack them up however I want?" The water still ran. "Am I to take your silence as permission?"

She took it that way.

"I'm going to check for books in your room. I don't want to pack them all neatly only to find an armful of books sitting in your bedroom." Rachel listened closely for a reply that never came. "Okay, so if you see someone in your bedroom when you come out, don't shoot. It's just me."

When Rachel walked inside the bedroom and saw the body on the bed, she started, dropping the box of books to the floor in her fright.

"God, Quinn, you nearly scared the talent out of me!" Rachel took a moment to compose her rapidly beating heart and crouched down to pick up the fallen novels. "If you were going to nap, you could have told me in the van." She knew how tired Quinn had been the past few days but unless she had suddenly developed narcolepsy it was a valid comment to make. They were due to be changed and ready for a celebratory dinner with their friends in just over two hours. Time was wasting.

Rachel's head turned towards the door. Water was still running.

"I thought you were in the shower." Rachel faced her properly this time. "Quinn," she said, more forcibly.

There was no point getting mad when Quinn looked so lovely sleeping. Rachel climbed onto the bed and kneeled next to her, lightly scratching her cheek with her pointer finger. "It's time to get up, Sleeping Beauty."

It took Rachel several seconds to realise that Quinn's chest was still, and one more to notice the needle sticking out of her arm.


	21. There's No Remedy For Memory

Rachel wouldn't remember much of the next few minutes.

She didn't know whether to rip the needle out of Quinn's arm or keep it in but ultimately decided on pulling out carefully and threw it across the room. Her limbs felt the same coldness as the last time she thought she'd found Quinn like this, only this time it was real and she couldn't breathe. Her hands felt heavy and un-coordinated; useless. No, she wouldn't remember much of the next few minutes; only that in the time it took to call an ambulance and tell them that Quinn wasn't breathing, Quinn's lips turned blue and her skin looked strange and sickly; almost grey. She would be able to recall the way in which the purest form of fear obliterated her from the inside out, but never exactly right. Not truly. Sometimes a mind has its own way of protecting itself. She would simply remember the way the room spun and the general sense that nothing had ever hurt this much.

She would remember the instructions given to her on the phone before it was clumsily dropped to the floor and lifting Quinn's head to rip the pillows away, lowering it again carefully to tip her chin and open and check the airways. Rachel would remember administrating CPR and hastily wiping one of her own tears off Quinn's face when she separated their mouths. She would remember the dizzying shock and confusion, the desperate pleas as she administered the compressions and then breath. Things like the time it took for the EMTs to get there or rushing through the apartment to let them in she wouldn't remember. She wouldn't remember them telling her their names —Marcus and Irene— or her telling them that Quinn had overdosed on heroin and their professional reactions despite personal beliefs and experiences on the job.

She wouldn't remember the questions they fired at her or the way that they fussed over Quinn; calling her name and one rubbing his knuckles over her sternum to rouse her. She wouldn't remember them cutting Quinn's shirt open and removing her bra. Rachel wouldn't remember how they positioned and pressed the adhesive pads to Quinn's chest but she would remember the sight of the defibrillator and how harsh it looked when the paddles were charged and shocked against Quinn's chest; the way that her body tightened suddenly like she'd been frightened and fell back limp and unresponsive. Rachel would remember begging God not to do this.

She wouldn't remember her foot accidentally kicking Quinn's phone further under the bed, or make the connection of that and the sound she'd heard only a short while ago as she packed up. She was too preoccupied.

The silly instinct to push Marcus —the middle-aged EMT with the moustache and smooth dark skin— away from Quinn would too be something that Rachel would recall after all of this. She had to keep in mind that as awful as it looked, he was trying to help. He was trained to save lives. He was their best shot.

She didn't look at the defibrillator monitor, she looked at Quinn. And whenever the EMTs obscured her line of sight she would move to a better spot. If Quinn woke up she would be scared. She would need to see someone who loved her, not strangers. It was all Rachel had. She couldn't touch her, couldn't beg and plead with her like she'd done many times before. Quinn was further away than she'd ever been before.

Rachel winced each time the paddles were charged and Quinn's body tautened momentarily, face as blank as it had been the moment she clocked eyes on her. Quinn's lips were still blue. It didn't make sense to Rachel; she'd practically just kissed them: warm and soft. Pink.

Marcus intermittently put the paddles down and administered CPR in a way that seemed brutal but was necessary. She would feel the pull of her own muscles tomorrow.

Rachel would remember the look that Marcus and Irene shared and the way a sob clawed its way out of her throat at what it meant. She begged them not to stop.

She didn't know what terrified her more: the paramedics stopping, or watching them do absolutely everything they could and it still not be enough.

When there was no change to the vitals, Rachel resorted to begging Quinn not to do this to her despite knowing she couldn't hear. Somewhere after that she switched back to God and bargained the way she had when her father went through chemotherapy and contracted a blood virus. When she thought he was going to die. She knew the shocks were less likely to help the more time passed.

During that, the paddles were charged again and placed on the pads stuck to Quinn's chest and ribs. The shock was administered the same way the others had been and her body reacted in the same way as it had done the previous times, only this time there was a moment before the rhythm strip on the monitor changed. Rachel heard their reactions and her eyes darted towards the same thing although she didn't understand what they meant completely. All she could process was that there was something new on the monitor and the paramedic was hanging up the paddles.

When Rachel saw Marcus's face, however, she saw less tension on it. She asked, in a voice that didn't sound like hers at all, if Quinn was back.

She registered the words 'almost' and 'woods yet.'

Rachel clung to almost and watched them work. She saw Irene hand over a pre-filled syringe and couldn't prevent herself from asking what it was. It was naloxone hydrochloride. Rachel wouldn't remember that either, but its use and effects was explained to her as it was injected into Quinn's shoulder and that was an image that she would remember.

It was a few minutes before there was an unmissable rise and fall to Quinn's chest. The male paramedic covered her modesty with one of the many discarded tops scattered over the bed.

"Quinn?" he called. She moved her head to the side, stirring. "Hey, Quinn, are you going to join us?"

When Quinn's eyes finally opened, Rachel found that the tension leaving her body strangely hurt almost as much as it did when it mounted.

It didn't register who Quinn was looking at; her eyes hovered between being half-shut and completely closed.

"You been taking drugs, honey?"

Her eyes closed again. "No," she denied weakly.

"No?" Marcus echoed. "Your body's telling me otherwise."

"Didn't."

He looked vaguely entertained. He'd been through this scenario countless times and the user denied it every time. Marcus glanced at the monitor Irene was looking at and saw that Quinn's vitals had improved drastically but not completely. "Then why you falling asleep on me?"

There was no response and he slowly pushed more of the narcan, refraining from delivering a full dose. He preferred not to inject a full dose right away. The sudden onset withdrawal had turned nasty very quickly with previous experiences and it just seemed like the more humane way to deal with an opiate abuser.

It roused her more than the previous amount, and Irene was there with a disposable cardboard bowl when Quinn quickly leaned over the side of the bed to vomit. Irene pushed some of Quinn's hair out of the way.

"Okay, sweetie," she soothed. "You're okay."

Once Quinn was finished and was reclined on her back once more, Marcus saw her eyes flicker with fear (and probably more than a little pain, too) and was quick to smile in reassurance. "Hey, you're with us. My name's Marcus, and this here is Irene," he said, gesturing to his colleague. "It was a little touch and go there, but you're all right for now."

She stared at him, brows furrowed, until the memories came back. Until the pain truly registered.

And then she cried.

She turned, searching for Rachel.

Quinn inhaled when she saw her standing against the wall, looking back with betrayal shining in her eyes. Rachel was pale, had fresh and old tears on her face, and Quinn couldn't possibly understand what she had just been through.

"Rach…" Quinn shook her head. "I didn't," she swore. "I didn't."

The paramedics had witnessed many dramatic scenes with a substance abuser and a clean relative or loved one. They understood; tension was high and emotions were all over the place, but they didn't want to give Quinn or Rachel chance to start a situation. Irene spoke up and suggested her personal recommendation of going to the hospital where Quinn could be monitored.

"Is there anybody we can call for you?" Irene asked, looking to both Quinn and Rachel but only one of them was paying her any attention.

Rachel nodded dumbly. "I'll get you some numbers," she said dully, moving on auto-pilot to where she must have dropped her phone on the floor earlier.

"Rachel, I swear," Quinn insisted as strongly as she could, which wasn't very strong at all, wrecked to think that Rachel hurt so much over actions that hadn't been her fault.

Rachel couldn't explain why she walked out of the room with her phone in hand but she found herself in the living area only moments later, soon joined by the friendly paramedic who didn't seem fazed by her actions. She listed off several names and numbers and nodded as they were read back correctly.

As Irene prepared to dial one of them, Rachel knew that it was wrong and swiftly changed her mind. "I'll do it," she said. "It should be me."

"Can I get you some water, sweetie?"

"I can get it." Rachel could do it. She could do everything.

She stared at the lock screen on her phone —a view of the sea from a restaurant table that she'd taken the last time she went on vacation— and it went black, allowing her to stare at part of her reflection in the glass. Words for those types of calls never came easily and though Rachel usually found it easier all-around to call things as they were, it wasn't a conscious effort that she put into her words when Kurt answered his phone.

"Rach, I'm literally on my way to the car to come help you lift the light things."

"Kurt, it's Rachel," she announced needlessly, sounding alarmingly detached. "You should get here. Quinn's… And I-I think the paramedics want to leave. It feels like they've been here for a long time, and I'm—I'm sure they're busy." The pregnant pause was almost nice. She could hear traffic coming through the phone and imagined his feet stuck to the ground, utterly blindsided.

"What?"

Rachel swallowed, looking every bit of a mess as the apartment did. She was stood amongst boxes and piles of clothes. "And you should call everyone because I don't want to do that."

"Rachel," Kurt prompted with caution and trepidation heavy in his tone.

"I think it would be best if you hurried," she offered, eyes wandering for something to focus on. The noise inside her head was banished like a door had been closed when they landed on the bathroom. The shower. It was still on. "I gotta go."

The running water gave Rachel something to focus on as she made her way over to the bathroom and pushed the door open. She frowned when a wall of steam and heat hit her instantly, and she reached behind the flimsy curtain that had always somehow managed to end up over the ledge despite her pulling it inside and dripping water all over the floor each time she'd showered there. The water burned her skin during the loss of pressure as the shower was turned off, dripping a steady, scalding stream down against her arm. It hurt, naturally. Rachel wasn't numb to pain, she just wished she was.

She recalled one day, perhaps only twenty minutes after finishing up in the bathroom, she was nursing a cup of tea and scanning through the listings for apartments when Quinn strode up to her with a wet towel held up in her hand, looking simultaneously curious and irritated when she asked Rachel what she did in the shower that would leave a tidal wave on the bathroom floor. Rachel remembered the innocent shrug she gave and the way Quinn stalked off with nothing but a groan. Everything had felt insurmountable back then; so many new and dangerous things to worry about. Compared to how things were now, those were actually the better days. Who would have thought it?

The heat was stifling in there and she left promptly once she completed her task, heading off towards the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of water and sipped at it slowly, staring at the white tiles behind the sink. When she'd had enough Rachel put her glass down on the side with a hollow clonk and lowered her eyes to stare at nothing.

Awful images flashed through her mind, growing to vivid and unequivocal memories that she would do anything to forget. She felt her pulse spike and her breaths came out heavier until it wasn't enough and they turned rapidly shallow and uneven.

Irene exited the bedroom again and was quick to cross the distance and rub her hand up and down Rachel's arm firmly.

"You're all right," she stated, calmly and so confidently that it may have been believed any other time. Irene held on to Rachel's arm as she sunk to the floor, going with her. "Listen to me: slow, even breaths, and listen to what I tell you. Don't focus on anything else; don't even think about anything else. Quinn? She's fine. Okay? She's fine. You did everything right; you reacted wonderfully. It's because of you that she's here right now. Everything you saw is over. It never has to happen again."

Rachel distantly thought she was going to be sick.

She felt the excess saliva in her mouth and the pulling sensation in her throat but she didn't think to move. She managed to keep it down but didn't know for how long, she just sat there and let the paramedic talk, trying to focus on just her. It wasn't a successful effort but she'd stopped hyperventilating after a few minutes and felt tears dry against her face.

Irene eventually suggested getting some air.

It was a genius suggestion.

Rachel jumped at the chance to be outside with all of that space and air, only she didn't want company and she needed to be able to breathe before she got outside or she thought she might not make it. She allowed Irene to help her back on her feet and uttered thanks before heading off towards the bedroom. Marcus was holding Quinn's right arm, in the middle of talking to her when Rachel's presence interrupted them. He released his careful hold of Quinn's arm and got up from the bed to begin cleaning up when Rachel crossed the room and wordlessly climbed over the bed to kneel beside her. She leaned over Quinn and put her arms around her the best she could, tipping her head down to bury it in her neck while Quinn's arms lifted to do the same.

Rachel could feel her, and it was something she desperately needed but was disheartened to find didn't make her feel better the way it usually did. She pressed a long kiss into the skin of Quinn's neck before she pulled back enough to look her in the eyes. Neither could stand it. Even the way Quinn grabbed her hand and put it up to her face, holding it there, just succeeded in making the deepest part of Rachel's chest hurt rather than lightening it.

"Will you let me explain? Please?"

Rachel still felt so detached from reality that she could barely feel the bed beneath her; only Quinn. "Yeah," she consented dazedly. "But—but not now. I have to… breathe, and think about how to— later. Soon, but later."

Quinn reluctantly let Rachel move away from her, ignoring the shift of her ribs again after lowering her arms, or simply breathing. She'd seen Rachel in most ranges of human emotion but never like this, and it killed her. "Rach, I want you to know that—"

"You're sorry," Rachel finished quietly. "I know."

"We'll talk later? You'll let me explain?"

"Yeah."

"Do you promise?"

Rachel nodded mutely and took one last look at Quinn before exiting the bedroom. She walked out of the apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

It would be the last time she would ever walk out of 8E.

Considering she was outdoors, it felt oddly like being in a fishbowl when she got outside into the bright late-afternoon sun, squinting sensitive eyes against the sun's reflection off the rain-soaked ground. She leaned against the front of the building and the next thing she saw was Andrew standing in front of her looking impressively concerned.

"Are you okay? Where's Quinn?" His brows shot up. "Is that ambulance for her?"

Andrew didn't even really know Quinn but Rachel couldn't tell him. She couldn't say it. She hadn't even been able to explain to her friends. He rushed into the building and her feet remained stuck to the ground, eyes moving to stare through the logo on their rental truck.

She hadn't thought to keep an eye on the time and so she wasn't sure of how fast her friends actually drove, though she had a feeling they'd broken a few laws to get there as quickly as possible. Rachel smoothed her hair out with both hands as her friends piled out of the cars and she paced over to meet them, eyelids weighted down each time she blinked.

All of the girls were crying.

Mercedes, holding tightly to Santana's arm, was the only one brave enough to ask. "Rachel… tell me she's not. Please."

The emotion and responsibility Rachel felt directed towards her was overwhelming. She swallowed thickly and took a fraction of a second too long to shake her head because there were gasps and harder sobs and then most of the guys were crying, too. "She's upstairs," she said. "She's—she's awake, with paramedics. She overdosed."

Artie rolled up as fast as his arms would allow, Mike following closely to catch the end of that.

Kurt stepped forward when Rachel blew out a breath and looked pale and clammy like she was going to slide down to the ground or hurl; likely both, but she moved away from him.

"I'm going."

Nobody had spoken yet. Quinn had happily declared that she was clean just twenty-four hours ago. She'd been with Rachel, or was supposed to have been. How did this happen so quickly? How did it happen at all?

"Going?" Tina questioned in between her plentiful sobs.

Rachel was the sole recipient of sympathetic yet bewildered looks from her friends. She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"You can't," Brittany stressed. This wasn't right.

Rachel stopped following the conversation in the time it took to snap two fingers together. "What?"

Finn also had a hard time following anything right now. His hands were jammed into his pockets as he stood beside Puck and Sam, having only stopped with his naïve belief of Quinn being fine as they pulled up in front of the building and his eyes clocked the ambulance parked up. Everything felt a little too serious that it ended up being surreal. There were a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, questions he knew his friends also wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time. Now was the time for them to stick together.

"You can't leave right now," he said.

"No, I... I can. I'm going to." Following her declaration, Rachel walked past her stunned friends and climbed into the van, sitting in the seat Quinn had recently been sat in and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She would wait for Andrew to take her home.

"You'll take care of her?" Mercedes tearfully asked Kurt, getting a nodded response. "We've got Quinn, don't worry. I'll send Andrew down." If she found him up there. She didn't know for sure; it was just an assumption.

"Give Quinn my love, will you?" Kurt asked as the group started towards the building's entrance. Puck's hand came down on his shoulder supportively.

"Sure, man. You give Rachel ours?"

Kurt would do that, he just wasn't sure if it would affect her.

X

Kurt remained in the van with Andrew once Rachel had opened her door and stepped down, making a quick exit. He'd been texting with Blaine on the ride over there and now that he knew Quinn was on her way to the hospital, he asked if Andrew wouldn't mind going back to her apartment tomorrow to help Mike and Sam pack up all of her things. Quinn would be in no state to do it herself.

Rachel took the elevator to her floor with a guy, perhaps a couple of years older than her, standing in the corner wearing sports gear and sweating lightly with a dog sat obediently at his feet who panted heavily, tongue lolled out the side of its mouth. The guy had earplugs in and nodded his head along to the beat which travelled in the small space they occupied. It was awful thing; to literally be enclosed in a limited space when she already felt like she was drowning or floating away —she could never settle on what it truly felt like.

As luck would have it, he was on a higher floor than her and she had to ride with him and the dog until the elevator slowed to a stop at hers. She was out of the doors as soon as there was room for her body to pass through them.

She'd known for the past thirty or so minutes that she absolutely had to get back to her own apartment but she stood inside it like she didn't know what to do or where to actually go that wasn't Quinn's bedside.

After using his emergency key, Kurt found her stood in the same spot between the living area and kitchen several minutes later, holding her hands over her face as she sobbed. He went over and held her immediately.

There it was.

X

If you asked Quinn, the visitation system in hospital was a fucking joke.

Nobody familiar and safe to her had been allowed in yet.

She didn't want to be there, anyway. The only reason she agreed to it was because her friends begged her to and the expressions they wore were so wretched that she didn't have the heart to tell them no. Her head pounded and her chest hurt each time she drew breath. It hurt when she held it.

It hurt most of all when she thought about Rachel.

She had to explain. She'd been there for what felt like forever and the attention was completely unnecessary when there was so much at stake. She hoped Rachel would be able to visit her soon.

Her ribs were bruised, quite severely. They protested at the effort she made to get out of bed and she gasped, gritting her teeth to push past the pain. She'd felt worse. She'd just spent a week in the worst state of her life; a few bruised ribs weren't going to slow her down. She was lucky to be alive, lucky Rachel found her when she did.

Quinn's feet were firmly planted on the bitingly cold hospital floor when the door was pushed open.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Tina admonished in a hiss, she and Finn quickening their steps to hold each of her hands and guide her that one simple step backwards.

A pained groan was trapped in her throat but Quinn failed to keep a flicker of discomfort from creeping across her face. She'd already scanned through the group and felt a pang inside her chest when there was no sign of Rachel.

"Are you comfortable there?" Blaine asked once they'd all given her a careful hug or held her hand. "Because I can make a call and get a different mattress and some better pillows in here within the hour."

"It's fine," Quinn dismissed as Artie was still parked beside her bed holding her hand. She didn't mind it. "Thank you."

"Are you sure?" He wanted to do something useful. "At the very least, I can _acquire_ an extra pillow from around here for you."

If she was propped any further forward she would topple forward but he looked so eager to do something that she nodded.

"I'm going to shove a blanket up my shirt because it's kinda cold in here." Brittany followed Blaine out of the room.

Santana's mouth tightened stubbornly as she studied her friend on the bed. She couldn't keep it up though, and passed around Artie and Sam to get to the jug of water. Quinn spied the action but she was more concerned with the shape protruding one of Finn's pockets.

"Is that your phone?"

"Huh?"

"Your phone?"

Finn still seemed confused until Quinn pointed to his pocket and then he put his hand over it. "Oh, yeah. It's off though, don't worry."

As if that possibly concerned her. She held her hand out without raising her arms too much. "I need to borrow it."

He stuck his hand into his pocket even as he said, "Won't it, like, stop all the machines or something?"

"It's just something they say to scare you." Quinn wasn't positive about that but she didn't care for the chance of it interfering with her monitors for a moment.

"Yeah, I think it's kind of like on an airplane," Sam added. "I don't think there's any proof it does anything."

Mercedes took it out of Finn's outstretched hand before he could pass it over to Quinn. "You can't use that in here, Quinn."

"I have to talk to Rachel." She didn't appear angry, and the pallor and clamminess to her face was indicative of discomfort and exhaustion. What she really needed was rest before withdrawal would truly set in again for the duration.

"I'll call," Mercedes promised. "I saw a payphone on the way up. What do you want me to say?"

Excluding the obvious apology and explanation, Quinn didn't even know. She had to see her. It would do no good for her words to come from somebody else. "Just… please tell her to come as soon as she's ready."

"All right, I won't be long."

"I'll come with. She'll need snacks for when she's feeling better," Artie declared, carefully squeezing Quinn's hand before he let go. "You'll need snacks."

When they left, Santana took his place but sat down on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders and forehead were tight as she held a cup of water and a straw out for Quinn to drink a couple of sips, probably to placate her but it was going to take a lot more than that. There were so many questions and so much confusion surrounding the entire events that nobody could begin to process it.

She couldn't hold her tongue, even after Quinn thanked her quietly.

"Okay, what happened?"

"Santana," Finn said, his voice getting about as stern as it ever did. It was as effective as ever.

"What? I think we deserve to know." Santana fixed her eyes back to Quinn and the next words out of her mouth were sharp. "You nearly—" It was perhaps the unspoken remainder of that sentence accompanied with Tina's comforting touch to her shoulder that caused her eyes to fill and an embarrassing quiver of her mouth. The next time she spoke, her voice was unsteady. "So, you need to tell us…what happened for this to happen. I don't understand. Nobody has got a clue. Like, in a day, that's all it takes for you to not be able to deal with it? What?"

Quinn's brows furrowed and shook her head, a sudden tightness to her chest to go with the excess moisture quickly gathered in her eyes. Everything was such a mess again. She'd just been pushed off the top of Everest after finally making it to the top and now she was right back where she started.

"I didn't. It wasn't me."

"Of course it was you," Santana returned, wiping a traitorous tear from her own cheek.

"You sounded good yesterday," Mike reminded Quinn. "In control."

"I was."

"So, what?" Santana pressed on. "The second you were back in your apartment you made some excuse and left Berry to go shoot up in the bedroom? That doesn't make any sense. You said you got through most of the physical stuff, so why would you put yourself through it again so —"

"No. I would never do that to Rachel."

"That hole in your arm is calling you a liar."

"How'd you get it?" Finn asked, trying to keep his eyes from straying towards the aforementioned sight. He'd seen it at the apartment and didn't care to see it again. "We went through your apartment with like, a toothcomb, for hours. There was nothing left. None of us would have left if there was still crap hidden."

"If she wanted to use, she was always going to find a way," Puck answered. He was so worried for Quinn that he still felt sick, but there was resentment for her disease laced in his tone. For once, he wasn't trying to place blame anywhere. He was simply stating words he knew to be true.

" _No_ ," Quinn gritted out. "Rachel wasn't even there at first. Her Dad called; she stayed in the van to talk and I went up alone."

His brows lifted. "Rachel _let_ you go up there alone?"

"The place was clean and they'd been together the whole week, so there was nothing on her," Finn threw back. "How was Rachel supposed to know anything was going to happen? She wouldn't have done it if she didn't trust her."

Puck was about to counter that he didn't think it was Rachel's fault, he was just surprised. Quinn cut him off just as he opened his mouth.

"It was Francis," she finally admitted.

"Who the fuck is Francis?" Santana demanded.

"My dealer. Used to be my dealer. He came over and I... I opened the door because I thought it was Rachel," Quinn began. It felt good to have the silent patience afforded to her where she could process what had happened in order to put it into words. Fear was present as she retold the story and revealed the bruise on her hip hidden beneath her gown where Francis pushed her to the floor, and the faint beginnings of discolouration to the skin of her arm where he'd squeezed it, remembering the exchange clearer than she wanted to. She saw different reactions depending on which person she set eyes on, but the common reactions were wet eyes and clenched jaws.

That was only the beginning.

When the rest of the group sans Kurt and Rachel returned and found out the whole story she had to answer the same questions and deal with the same tears and anger as before. When they eventually left it was because she told them that she was exhausted and in pain from her ribs. It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. The narcan that Marcus had injected her with had sped up the withdrawal symptoms. She'd broken out into a cold sweat and felt the aches begin. Despair settled over her at having to start the process all over again. She wouldn't be able to do it alone and she couldn't put that burden on her friends or Rachel again.

Quinn thought about one person for a long time, and cried for so many things.

Building up the courage certainly didn't come easily to her but she ultimately forced herself out of bed and fastened a robe around her body, stepping into slippers before leaving her room. She walked to the nearest nurse's station and asked to make a phone call.

The real courage came when she heard the voice on the other end and had to echo the same greeting.

X

Kurt had answered the call from Mercedes.

Rachel had still been in no state to talk on the phone but she did listen when he filled her in on why Mercedes was calling in the first place. Quinn wanted to her to be there. She promised she would be there soon, but couldn't drop everything and go right now. Quinn was far from alone; she had her friends who loved her, and Rachel knew that would be enough until she could make sense of things; until the questions that made her head spin slowed long enough for her to come up with a logical explanation to everything.

She couldn't go to the hospital. Not yet.

It would be a logical and rapid solution to getting those answers she craved, but as much as she trusted Quinn there would always be a tiny part of her that would find it difficult to in extreme cases. That was normal, she knew, but it didn't help.

She just couldn't figure out how and why Quinn had used in the minutes it took her to finish her call with her Dad. There had not been a single doubt in her mind about Quinn's readiness to be in the apartment alone. If there'd been even a sliver of it, she would have asked Leroy if she could call him back.

The apartment had been a mess but it was to be expected with clothes and belongings out of their usual place. The only notable out of norm was the condition she found Quinn in.

Rachel poured over every detail she could remember and kept coming to the same conclusion: that Quinn had somehow kept a small amount of heroin in a different hiding place than she'd told her friends about and couldn't resist using it after finally being alone. It was the only explanation she could entertain. She would have seen Francis, would have never let him leave, so he was unfortunately an unlikely suspect. Rachel, for a little while, just wanted someone else to blame rather than Quinn. It would have made things a little easier.

Now she had to think of a way to strengthen the approach to Quinn's recovery. Something better, stronger. She knew what that was immediately; it was just getting Quinn to agree to it that was the hard part.

Not long after there was a knock at her door. Rachel didn't move from the couch where she sat with a cup of now lukewarm tea that she had yet to touch, avoiding looking at the door for now because she would only see Quinn's jacket hanging up. Kurt padded across to open the door and stepped back to allow their friends inside. Rachel swallowed heavily at the sight of them and what they could possibly tell her.

Most of them looked like they'd done some more crying since the last time she saw them, and some simply looked angrier. They all sat on or around the couch and armchairs so that they were close. Puck had made a stop on the way back from hospital, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of a brown bag. He untwisted the lid and drank a good glug. The first person he offered the bottle to was Rachel. She didn't even hesitate before bringing it to her lips and used the back of her hand to cover her mouth from a small cough that followed.

Rachel tried to breathe the burn out of her throat and she was regarded with sympathy.

Mercedes was sat next to her with their arms looped together. "You gonna talk to us?" she asked gently.

"I really wouldn't know what to—"

"You want to try?"

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, Rach, it'll make you feel better."

That was about as likely as being struck by lightning where she sat. Nothing would make her feel better, not for a while. "I just— don't know how this happened," she said quietly. Her throat hurt from a reason other than a neat swallow of alcohol but then she began to smile a smile that didn't feel comfortable on her face, her voice growing louder when she continued. "I must be really, really stupid to not have seen any of this coming. You know, I must be some sort of _idiot_ to have thought that I could help like this."

Mercedes cuddled against her when she saw the tears brimmed in Rachel's eyes. "No. Nuh-uh. None of this is your fault."

"Well, that's really funny because it happened on my watch. Mine. Nobody else's."

Puck had the bottle again and had been silently fuming. He ground his teeth together. "I'm gonna kill that dude."

Of all of the things he could have said. Rachel gaped at him for his inappropriate outburst unrelated to their current conversation. "Do you mind? I would like to fall apart."

"Stop wallowing!" Puck came back with, sitting forward. "We should be talking revenge strategies, not crying about it."

"What are you talking about?" None of her friends would look at her. "One of your friends almost died today! Can we bring the focus back to that?"

"It's all linked together," Finn said morosely from the floor, the lack of eye-contact making it seem like he hadn't been particularly happy to break the news. But when he felt her gaze, he had to meet it. "That guy —Frankie or somethin'—"

"Francis," she corrected slowly.

"Yeah, Francis," Finn nodded, the name making his mouth feel sour. "He made her do it."

Rachel's face began to fall. She stared at him. "I-I don't know what you're saying. Quinn is responsible for her own actions. She has to be responsible for this, she— we can't—"

Santana side-eyed Finn's inability to break the news in a clean, swift manner. "Look, you know I'm the first person to jump down Quinn's throat when she's screwed up. This is different. It wasn't Quinn. That prick Francis forced the needle in her arm, okay? If you want to be angry, be angry at him. You definitely won't be alone. We can all be in a club together again," she suggested. "The 'We Hate Francis: Die Motherfucker' club. I'm open to suggestions on the name. I feel like there are a lot of opportunities for creativity."

Kurt's lips parted at the revelation and the first person he turned to was Rachel.

Her face was frozen; eyes shimmering. She moved her head back almost imperceptively. "That's—"

"I'm sorry," Santana apologised sincerely.

"Can I finish a sentence?" Rachel snapped, finding her voice again. "That's _impossible_. I was right outside the building. I would have seen him walk in or out."

"You were distracted."

"Excuse me?"

Sam quickly attempted to lower the tension some. "The only person at fault here is Francis. All we're saying is that you were pre-occupied for a couple of minutes while you talked to your Dad. It would be natural that your focus was split. You might have glanced around but you're never really paying attention when you're delivering news over the phone. You were focused on that, it's okay. Why shouldn't you have had that time after how tough this past week has been?"

Rachel was still unwilling to believe that Francis had slipped past her unnoticed. No matter what they said or however likely the scenario could be with any other two people in the world, it seemed impossible to her.

"No," she rejected it altogether.

"She already had bruises, Rachel," Tina revealed. "From when he pushed her and held her down."

Rachel shook her head, scrambling for one or more reasons Quinn could have obtained a bruise the past few days. There had been plenty of times that she'd barged into the bathroom so hard that there should have been a Quinn-shaped hole in the door; Quinn could have easily gotten one from that or even from falling in the bathroom.

It looked like it was up to Santana again. She really didn't appreciate the way everybody was dancing around the facts. Of course Rachel would try to jet off to fantasy land again where life wasn't so scary; she couldn't even blame her. The world sucked sometimes. "Quinn said he talked about something that happened between you guys last week, and it all escalated from there. Said he went postal," she said. "And I gotta say, you want to run off and confront the prick who has been contributing to Quinn's downward spiral, that's great, I'm all for it, but you don't be an idiot and go alone. We're family; you should have come to us."

Rachel inhaled audibly, her eyes filling even as she moved her head again to deny it. But there was no way she could fool herself this time. It had really happened, and her first thought had been to blame Quinn for it. Rachel had been carefree on the phone to her Dad, laughing more than a handful of times while Francis was alone upstairs with Quinn, almost succeeding in his attempt to kill her. The guilt came so heavily that she couldn't breathe. For the way she'd gone cold at the reveal, she now felt burning hot and her heart was pounding. "No," she cried. "Oh, my _God_." She was going to be sick.

Kurt switched Rachel's mug of tea to the floor and occupied its previous place on the arm of the couch, leaning down to wrap an arm around her. "Shhh, it's okay."

On some level Rachel understood that she was not responsible for another human being's actions and that what happened was in no way her fault, but there was so much guilt inside of her that it could pull her to the ocean floor.

Puck ground his teeth again. "What happened?" he demanded to know. "How were you stupid enough to go to him alone?" The next question made him want to smash something; namely the skull belonging to Francis. "Did he put his hands on you?"

Finn's head shot up at the question.

Rachel was still crying, still wanted to throw up and scream. It took her a while and the efforts of her friends to calm her down again, at least enough to speak. She cleared her throat. "I didn't," she denied automatically. "I didn't go to him. I was at Quinn's; I was waiting for her to—to come home and he knocked at the door, and I answered. I shouldn't have. I should have left it," she said. "And yeah. Yeah, but he didn't…beat me or anything. He could have, because I got mad and I—I kicked him, but he just left."

That was little consolation to her friends.

"He's going to hell. I've never believed in that more than I do now," Mercedes fumed, blubbering again. "Are you okay?"

Everybody else reacted a little stronger than that. Finn and Puck jumped to their feet first, and Sam, Blaine and Mike followed.

"He's fucking dead," Puck declared to Finn's nod.

"We can call the police," Mercedes said. "Quinn didn't want us to, but I think if Rachel talks to her and the police see the—" Finn didn't like that idea. He cut her off.

"Screw the cops. What are they gonna do?"

Blaine was in agreement. "Finn's right; they'll do nothing with this in the time or way we need."

Sam chanced a look at Mercedes. He knew she wouldn't be happy about this at first but he couldn't agree more. Francis had to pay. "Babe, you know this is the only way justice will truly be served. The dude put his hands on one of our best friends and almost killed another."

Artie looked exceptionally furious, both with Francis and his limp legs.

"I think you should do it," Brittany said, throwing her support out there. "I want to come with you."

"Me too," Tina added hastily.

Santana was next. "Make that three."

"No way," Puck forbade. "We're not putting you girls in danger."

Now Santana was insulted. "Screw you, you sexist pig. I can take down anyone, all right? Just ask—"

"This isn't going to be a playground fight," he interrupted. "He's gonna pay for this, but we've gotta be smart about it."

Rachel, who had been remarkably silent during the entire exchange, finally spoke out. "You're right," she admitted. It was the darkest conversation she would ever been a part of, but he was right. They had the power and opportunity to do something about Francis; it shouldn't be wasted. Not after what he had done to Quinn and how he had nearly changed all of their lives forever. She was too full of rage to come to any other conclusion.

With that, Puck's conviction was renewed and what could almost pass for a relieved smile touched his face. He turned his attention to Mercedes and it dimmed. "We should all agree."

"Agreed," Artie said, just wishing he wouldn't be so useless.

Kurt had thought about it carefully. He didn't believe in God and the justice system in America was painfully flawed, could be especially for those who lived in poorer areas. He had no faith that retribution could be achieved without this. "As long as you're careful —more than careful, more than smart, I agree."

"Mercedes?"

Mercedes swallowed thickly and focused on Sam. He gave her a slight nod and she sighed. "Okay," she relented reluctantly. "But you can't go running off tonight like cavemen without thinking this through. You can't be seen, you can't get caught. There can be no record of this anywhere. If there's even a slight chance of being discovered, you can't take it. You have to wait for a better time. One of you has already been to jail; I don't want to see anybody else in there, right?"

"We promise," Sam vowed.

"I'm serious. Forget it ruining careers, which it could, it could ruin your lives. All those people who will benefit from the album, it will affect them too. The label isn't going to care why you're doing what you're doing; they're going to care about the publicity."

"We know what's at stake here. We'll do it smart," Puck said.

Finn addressed Rachel. "Do you know where he lives?"

"No, but I know where you can start."

They talked through the plan many times.

Brittany and Tina found some sheets of plain paper in a drawer with pens and crayons. Rachel explained that they were for the kids she sometimes babysat for and nobody ribbed her about it. They needed the pens and paper to write down the details so that they were absolutely clear to everyone. It would be burned as soon as everything was over but it had its practical use for now.

Other than helping them track Francis down, Rachel didn't say much to the chatter all around her. A flicker of doubt seeped in at one point but it was then swiftly counteracted with a memory of Quinn's blue lips, her body stiffening as she was shocked, and then Rachel found that she didn't care what happened to Francis at all.

Artie found that orchestrating the majority of the plan helped considerably in not feeling limited due to his disability.

After it was all written down, Brittany quizzed everyone on it; even those who wouldn't be there. Nobody thought to tell her it was silly and unnecessary because, truthfully, it wasn't. Everyone had to be on the same page and know exactly what to do.

Rachel tried to keep up but she'd been staring at Quinn's jacket hanging up on the rack. She pushed the blanket off and got to her feet.

"I have to see Quinn."

"I told you the last time you said that; it's way past visiting hours, Rach," Tina said regretfully. It was after ten o'clock. "They won't let you see her."

X

Nobody told Rachel Berry what to do.

She was fully prepared to resort to making a scene in order to get into Quinn's hospital room but in the end she didn't have to. The hallway was quiet because of the late hour and the remaining members of staff in the nurse's station were cleared out with some sort of emergency in another room.

The group took it as luck finally being on their side and didn't waste time before hurrying down the corridor to the correct room.

Rachel opened Quinn's door quietly just in case she woke her up.

But Quinn wasn't asleep.

Unless one of Quinn's many layers was a heavy-set African American woman, she wasn't there at all. Rachel felt a sharp pang in her chest at the sight of the stripped bed.

The nurse, Brenda, glanced up from a clean sheet she had to fix back on the bed and eventually smirked at how on earth that amount of people got past the nurse's station without being annihilated. Visiting hours were non-negotiable on that ward. It wouldn't be pretty if they were caught.

"Where's Quinn?" Rachel fired out.

"Gone."

"What?"

"Checked herself out," Brenda clarified.

Rachel challenged her with a lift of her brows and a sardonic breath of laughter. "That's impossible."

Brenda cocked her head at the display of sass. Nobody sassed her. She bent at the waist with a groan to look under the bed and then hauled herself back up. "Well, she ain't hiding under there." Rachel's face hardened and Brenda backed down, feeling a trace of empathy for the woman. "This ain't the psych ward, baby. Patients can do as they please. If they want to check themselves out against doctor's recommendation, they can."

Quinn could be anywhere. She could disappear again. Rachel felt her eyes burn. "Do you—do you know where she went?"

"Even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

Sam put his arm around Rachel. "We're family."

Brenda hadn't been this entertained by a visit in at least three days. "All o' you?" There were nodded responses from just about all of them. She looked to each and every one of the eleven faces staring back at her and her eyes rolled after a moment. "She came up to the nurse's station earlier and asked to use the phone. Heard her talkin' to her Mama. Lots of tears, lots of apologies. It was like that girl was on a loop. Anyway, she left with her a little while ago."

"Her—" Rachel stopped abruptly, blinking to make sure she wasn't dreaming. "I'm sorry, you must be mistaken."

"Brenda don't make mistakes."

"But that's… Quinn hasn't—they haven't talked in—"

"I'm just the nurse, honey. You got questions; I suggest you talk to Quinn."

Rachel turned to her friends with her mouth agape.

X

Even if Rachel's sleeping pattern didn't happen to be screwed from the past week, she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Her friends had dropped her back off at home hours ago and left with a promise to return early in the morning with breakfast and coffee. She should have been asleep by now but the apartment felt empty, too quiet for her to sleep. She lay in bed and listened hard for any sign that she wasn't alone in being awake in the middle of the night but none came; her neighbours were either asleep or too respectful to make much noise.

Rachel was used to hearing Quinn around the apartment. And while Quinn had technically never been in her bedroom, Rachel felt like her bed was too big. Isolated was a good word, she decided some time later after searching for the right one.

It was difficult to have her eyes closed and not see awful images. It was difficult to have her eyes open and not see the same things.

A bright glow illuminated the room from her nightstand.

Rachel always put her phone on silent when she was in bed. She didn't like her sleep to be disturbed by messages or e-mails that could wait until morning and so she always muted the sound. She didn't recall completing that part of her regular routine tonight but she must have done.

It wasn't a number she recognised but there was someone awake at the same and wanted to speak to her badly enough to call at three o'clock in the morning, so she rolled over and picked the phone up, falling back to the pillows before she answered it.

"Hello?"

The possibility of it being bad news didn't enter Rachel's head. The quota had been more than filled already. Little else would surprise her.

"Hey."

Except for that.

She shot up on an elbow. "Quinn?"

"Yeah, hi. I'm not using my phone, so that's why the number was different."

The pause and nervous pitch to Quinn's voice made Rachel's heart beat faster. The fact that they were talking at all made it palpitate. "W— Are you okay?" she asked. "Where are you? I went to the hospital but they said that you left. I tried to call but I just kept getting your voicemail."

"Been better," Quinn answered honestly. "But I'll be okay."

She sounded so nervous and Rachel couldn't stand it. Out of nowhere, tears were welled in her eyes. "I thought you were dead. I'm so glad you called, I was so worried."

"Thought I was going to be. I'm sorry if I woke you. I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about you, and I wanted to hear your…"

"Me too." She gripped the phone tightly and closed her eyes. Quinn's voice was quiet and she didn't want to miss a single thing. "Will you speak up?" she asked. "You're so quiet, I… I want to hear you."

"Sorry," Quinn returned just as low. "Hang on." There was some rustling and then the soft click of a door closing. "Better?"

Only slightly, but it would do.

"Where are you?" Rachel was prepared to get dressed and head out.

"I'm still in the city. I'm with my Mom," Quinn said, sounding shocked about the whole thing. "I didn't want to wake her in the room, so I'm outside the door."

"Do you want me to come meet you?" Rachel was so desperate to see her and to replace the last few memories she had of being around her. She was so desperate to apologise in person but she could do nothing to keep the words inside or the tears from flowing. "Quinn, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I left. I just—couldn't be around you, or anyone. I thought you were going to die, I thought…that you'd done it to yourself and I was in shock and so scared and confused, and I just…" she sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry." For all the good that it did, her teeth push down hard on her bottom lip to muffle her cries. "I didn't think you'd ever see Francis again. I swear I didn't."

"Rachel," Quinn began, in a soft, comforting tone, "You have to know that none of this is your fault."

"Isn't it?" Rachel challenged. "I'm the one who provoked him. I'm the one who let him in. I let him in the apartment, Quinn. I knew it wasn't you, but I didn't care. I wanted to tell him to stay away from you."

"Well, that was stupid," Quinn agreed, and she was cut off before she could follow that statement up with anything else; mainly that Francis would have done the same thing had Rachel not confronted him, anyway.

"I know, but I heard about Jackson and I was so scared of the same thing happening to you. He was right there, I couldn't ignore it."

"That's all right. I would have done the same thing in your position."

"You would have kicked him in the balls?"

"No," Quinn denied.

"Exactly," Rachel returned quickly.

"I would have cut them off." There was a sound across the line and Quinn wasn't sure if Rachel was laughing or crying.

"Quinn."

"What? I'm serious." She was quiet for a moment. "I wanted to. When he told me that he was alone with you..."

Rachel debated on the next words out of her mouth, unsure they would be what Quinn wanted to hear but she had to know. "I have to tell you something. We were all talking tonight, after they got back from visiting you, and we decided something. You know that Francis has to pay for what he did to you, to all of us."

"I know. I was going to ask you for Johnny's number."

"Why?"

"Because his sister's a cop, right? Works in vice?"

"Yeah," Rachel said, liking where it was going.

"Francis flies under their radar. He has a huge supply at his house but it's really well hidden. It's in the basement and under the floorboards in one of the box rooms upstairs. He gets more once a month, and it's coming up. If there's an anonymous tip timed right… Unless you had something else in mind?"

"No, I think that's a great idea," Rachel assured. "It would really round things off, especially if you told the police about how he attacked you."

"I don't want to do that."

"Quinn, he almost—"

"Trust me, I know what I almost lost because of him, but I don't trust cops and even if I did, I don't have the time or energy to sit in for a statement right now." She heard an intake of breath from Rachel. "Please. This is my decision, okay?" There was a stretch of silence. "Rachel."

"Okay," Rachel replied softly and grudgingly. "Fine."

"Thank you."

"But you should know that the guys have their own idea of revenge for this. They're going to find him and…take care of it. Enough so that he won't be able to pick up a needle in a really long time." Surprisingly, there was no immediate dispute. The tables were turned and Quinn stayed quiet for a while.

"Are they sure they want to do that?"

"They're sure."

"And they'll be safe and smart about it?"

It was going to be five against one. Odds were definitely in their favour of coming out of the fight unscathed. "I promise."

"Okay," Quinn said. "You're not going, right? It's bad enough the guys are going; if I think for a second that you're there, I'll go crazy. It's too dangerous; physically and professionally. You can't be there."

"I'm not going with them," Rachel said. "I'll be with Kurt, Artie, and the girls. Mercedes thinks we should go to her house. It's big and secluded, so it's less likely for the guys to be spotted when they come back."

"You've thought of everything."

"I can't take any credit. Everyone else kind of planned it out. I mostly just sat there, numb." She didn't know if she should have said that because there was another prolonged moment where nothing else was said.

"I wish I could see you."

"Quinn, please tell me where you are. I can come right now."

Rachel heard the sound of a door opening and then an older woman calling Quinn's name. It clicked after a second that it must have been Judy. Rachel hadn't heard her voice in years. She listened hard and heard Quinn apologise and tell her who she was talking to and why she left the room. She heard Quinn promise that she would be in soon.

"Sorry," Quinn said once her mother had gone back into the room. "That was my Mom."

"Do you have to go?"

"In a minute."

"Where are you?"

"I can't tell you."

Disappointment settled over Rachel heavily. "Why not? We have so much to talk about, Quinn. I don't want to wait anymore." There was too much that had to be said; it couldn't be through a phone line.

"I'm with my Mom, Rach. For the first time since high school. I called her out of the blue and apologised and begged her to come help me. I cried like a baby; on the phone and when she rushed into my room. I have to be here with her tonight. She wanted to stay up all night talking but she looked exhausted an hour ago, so I told her we could take a nap and talk after. I feel like there's so much to say to so many people, you know? But my Mom… she got a call, just one, and she packed a bag and jumped on the earliest flight she could get. I thought it would be so much harder than that. I thought she would hate me. As much as I want to see you, I can't leave her tonight," she said. "I'm sorry."

When it was explained like that, Rachel felt selfish for wanting so much of Quinn's time. Of course Judy should spend some time with her daughter. "Of course," she said. "Don't be sorry. Just, tomorrow? Please? I don't care for how long."

"I can't," Quinn reluctantly admitted. "Rach, I'm sorry."

The disappointment was heavier. "When?"

"I'm checking into a facility tomorrow. I can't—I can't do it by myself again. I need more help this time."

Rachel's lips parted as those words sunk in, and then the darkness was the only witness to the way her eyes drifted shut, brows pinching shut and finally crying for a reason other than sadness. "Oh, my God." She'd wanted that for her since the moment she'd seen the track marks. Her heart was still throbbing with the news when her mind began to run away with her. If Quinn was going to rehab they wouldn't see each other tomorrow, not for a long time. But the joy had to overweigh it. "Quinn, I—" Her mouth clamped shut. It was so difficult not to say it, but she couldn't say it now. She didn't know if Quinn knew what she was going to say, anyway. "You're just amazing. So amazing. You're the strongest person I know."

"I always thought that was you, you know."

"When will you be back?" Rachel asked, more vulnerable than she wanted to sound.

"Three months," Quinn said tightly, as if she was wincing. The silence was expected on one hand, but the other predicted a freak out of epic proportions. She started to worry when it stretched on. "Rachel… please doesn't be upset. And the album's done; there was nothing else on the cards. Even if there was— I have to do this now. It can't wait."

"I'm not upset," Rachel denied thickly, clearly exactly that. "This is the best thing for you, okay? I couldn't be happier or prouder. Forget the label, that doesn't matter right now. We'll smooth it over."

"They don't all sound like happy tears."

She groaned. "Okay, fine, I'm being selfish right now. Other than being so, so happy and proud of you, I'm worrying about when I'm going to be able to see you. Are you allowed visitors?"

"I think it's just family," Quinn said.

"What about phone calls?"

In hindsight, it was a thoughtless question to ask. If Quinn's contact was going to be limited to nobody but doctors and family it was hardly likely that she would be awarded a phone. Rachel would understand it for anyone else; the doctors had to be sure that their patients weren't in contact with an enabler on the outside world, but it was different for her. Rules should be broken for her.

Visits were to be made by family members only and there would be no chance of a phone until the treatment was over but Quinn still wanted to break the news as gently as possible. It was hard enough to hear for herself, never mind telling Rachel. "I don't know, Rach. But I'll call you as soon as I can, okay? The first person."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise," Quinn said easily.

There was a creak of a door again and Rachel presumed that because Quinn was still quiet, Judy was checking she was still there. Quinn promised she would be back in in a minute. The last time Rachel had been aware of an impending lengthy separation from Quinn was graduation, but even then she had clung to naïve hope of finding a reason to hang out over the summer or during college breaks. This time she didn't have that.

"You have to go?"

Quinn confirmed it gently.

"This feels weird," Rachel commented. Weird, wrong, unnatural. Unsurprisingly, she had to add fuel to the fire by thinking about all of the things she would miss about her. By the time she was done, Quinn still hadn't said anything. "Are you okay?" She listened closely. Nothing. "Quinn?"

Quinn cleared her throat. "Sorry. I feel really sick." Before Rachel could worry too much, she added, "It's eased off a little now, don't worry."

"I do worry."

"The next time we talk, I think I'm going to be a better person. It's a really great program and I know how lucky I am that I get to recover there. It's going to be really good for me. You know, I think that as much as this part sucks, it's what we both need. We'll be better for it."

"I think so, too."

Rachel could only dream of how different —lighter— Quinn could be with the right therapist and detox and recovery program. The thought alone was enough to soothe some of the pressure in her chest. Quinn would be better. Not totally; that would be naïve even for Rachel, but better. And that meant so much to her that she couldn't be selfish about this, even if ripping her heart out through her throat would be more appealing than being away from Quinn for months after what had happened today. Rachel definitely wasn't being dramatic.

She would stop crying, stop whining, and simply state a given.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Quinn."

"I know," Quinn replied softly. "I know because I've been standing here thinking about it, and I don't know how I did six years. I must have been crazy."

Rachel wanted to smile but the mention of that amount of time was far from comforting. "Please don't talk about a separation and then six years in the same sentence."

"Just three months."

"Three months," Rachel echoed.

"You know, you once said that you felt like I was the moon," Quinn said. "And in this…wonderful, meaningful life you've built for yourself, you're a star. So, when you start to miss me, you're going to have to remember that, okay? I'm not doing any of this without you. I meant it when I said that nobody's ever been closer than you. I knew that a long time ago. I know it before I even wanted to know it. This is… this can be another thank you for just about everything. One that I feel comes closer to being worthy."

"You're worthy, Quinn," Rachel asserted with a small frown.

"Well—"

"You are."

"Thank you."

Rachel was glad _that_ was settled. Now she just had to let Quinn go, however temporary the situation. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know what to say," Rachel admitted fretfully, knowing time was running down. But when her mouth opened again, words flowed freely. "Good luck. You're not going to need it, but just in case. You're so strong, you don't even know, Quinn. Part of me doesn't even wish you'd go in there believing that because the day when you realise it for yourself is going to be one of the most incredible days, believe me. And you're so loved and supported by so many people; the fact that you chose to do this yourself means the world to me."

"You don't know what to say?" Quinn teased.

Rachel's laugh was watery. "Who do you think I am? I had to give you some sort of pep talk."

"I should have expected it."

"You really should have." She hoped that Quinn was smiling. She didn't want her to be upset.

"Rach, promise me you're going to have fun."

"I'm sad, you know. I know I'm going to cry about this again just because I'll miss you and I'll worry simply because I'm not there. But I'm not going to sit around moping while you're getting better, Quinn. I'll be in a field for three months."

"What?" Quinn asked, and a bewildered smile was evident in her tone.

"I'll tell you about it when you're home."

"But you'll have fun?"

"I will."

"I'm not gonna say goodbye."

Rachel frowned a little at that blurted comment. "Please don't just hang up on me."

As gentle as it was, Quinn's gentle laugh ripped through her as her ribs shifted. She trapped the sound in her throat and swallowed it down, making a mental note not to do that again. "No, I just mean…," she trailed off, growing more serious. "Thank you for saving my life today, and for your unconditional support even when I didn't deserve it. Thank you for all the times you screamed and yelled at me, for the wake-up calls when I needed them and for calling me out when you knew I was talking crap. And…I'll see you soon. I'll be thinking of you," she grinned, remembering not to even chuckle. "In a field. Oh, my God, all of the ways I can spin that…"

"You're welcome," Rachel answered, a smile creeping back on her face. "I had to give you something."

"It's a lot. I don't know if I deserve it."

"No, you've earned it."

"Will you explain to everyone for me? I wish I had time to call all of them, but I don't. I have to rush that call to Johnny and then talk to my Mom."

"Of course I will," Rachel promised. "I'll call Johnny for you. He doesn't remember things if you wake him up in the middle of the night."

Quinn thanked her and then made her swear not to go near Francis again before sharing his full name for the police and the guys —Francis Dawley— and his home address. Too soon after that, a weighted silence told them that they were there. It was time to say goodbye. "All right, well, I'll see you later," she continued softly. "And please have fun. You can tell me all about your adventures when I see you."

"I can't wait. Remember what I said, okay?"

"That you'll be in a field? Trust me, I won't be forgetting that."

Rachel didn't bother with a verbal response. Quinn was turning a bittersweet moment to a bitter one by making her smile so much. Goodbye was all wrong; she wouldn't say that, and Quinn had already stolen 'see you later'. But Rachel found that what she was left with was more than suitable. "Goodnight, Quinn."

"Goodnight."


	22. Perigee

Following ninety-six hours' worth of homework, of discovering daily habits and regular times that he had company, Francis Dawley was taken care of. He'd been crumbled on the ground and coughing up blood when the police arrived and discovered the amount of illegal substances on his person and property. There was nothing he could have done.

A couple of weeks after Quinn entered rehab her friends began to drop unsubtle hints that they had to get back home soon. They had lives and homes to get back to, and several had regular jobs that wouldn't stay open if they were gone for much longer. They were all concerned and supportive to both Rachel and Quinn but didn't feel any guilt for leaving, and nor did Rachel act in any way other than thankful that they all stuck around for an extra week than they were going to. It was the right thing to do; they all had to figure out their careers, what they wanted their next move to be after the incredible yet surreal journey from the past few months, and lives had to regain some sort of normality even after tragedy. And although what had happened with Quinn was harrowing, it could have been much worse.

Rachel found it easy to keep herself busy.

A couple of days into Quinn's rehabilitation, Rachel happened to be on her way to the bedroom to get changed for a night out when she spotted an old book wedged between two of her newer ones on the bookcase. Upon closer inspection she saw that it was Quinn's —now hers— copy of Little Women. There was an inscription inside which read "Lucy Quinn Fabray, age 9" underneath the single line streaked through it, now reading "Rachel Berry" below it. The sight produced a warm sensation in her chest and she took the book to her room so that she wouldn't forget to start reading it before bed.

She had missed travelling for pleasure rather than business and took a three-week trip to Europe with some friends she had admittedly neglected since she'd begun work on the album. Sightseeing and nights out aside, she found that she didn't need to keep herself distracted every hour of the day in order to stay sane. She thought of Quinn regularly and didn't fold into herself with worry. A private smile would pull at her mouth sometimes during her musings, and if she happened to get a phone call from one of her Glee friends —her family— and they mentioned Quinn or retold an anecdote involving her, Rachel would smile then too. But it was easier to laugh.

Rachel took to songwriting again on her well-earned break. It begun in Italy during the first stop of her trip and still hadn't ended. Lyrics came easier to her than they once had in high school, and with everything that had happened it felt like the most natural thing in the world to pick up a notebook and begin writing. She didn't even have to be in the bathroom to write. It was a success all around.

She was going strong on the treadmill the time where Kurt, Blaine and Johnny informed her of their single and album chart-placement. It didn't hurt when she flew off the machine and crashed to the floor; in fact, Rachel barely felt it at all. There was a photo floating around on social media sites of a paramedic holding an ice-pack to her head while she grinned ecstatically.

Rachel visited Sam and Mercedes in LA for a weekend, making sure that the three of them grabbed lunch with Brittany and Santana while she was there. It was good to see them all after a month. Rachel grew used to them being around physically even after such a short weekend trip and didn't appreciate the sinking sensation when it was time to leave. She made sure that she kept in contact with all of her friends who were back to their own lives; regularly texting, e-mailing and calling them to keep up to date with anything going on, and of course overshare everything going on in her own life.

After more than a dozen failed attempts, Rachel did something she thought she would never do: she successfully made her own pasta. The first thing she did was call her Daddy and rub that little fact in his face like the mature, responsible adult that she was, and the second thing came after she'd hung up. She thought of Quinn, of how badly she wanted to pick up the phone and call her to tell her. The first time Rachel cooked the pasta for somebody else was a week or so later when Antonio came over for dinner and she didn't stop badgering him for details about his new girlfriend and job offer.

Rachel did a lot of things over the three months to keep busy and appreciate how fortunate she was.

She approached Johnny for a favour one day and laughed at his exaggerated groan before she'd even asked him anything. He was right to have reacted warily. She wanted him to beg his sister for the address of Jackson's burial site so that she could lay flowers. Considering the anonymous tip from the not so distant past, the information was handed over after only a few days —albeit with a firm warning that no other requests would be fulfilled. As Rachel placed the flowers down on top of the freshly turned mound of earth and stared at the temporary wooden cross and brass name plate revealing that it was indeed Jackson's final place of rest, she got to thinking that Quinn was right in what she said a few weeks ago. That could have easily been Quinn's name she read, only it wasn't because of a few simple decisions somewhere along the way.

Rachel still didn't know much about Jackson other than he made Quinn feel safe and happy and that he probably hadn't been too different from Quinn in a lot of ways. She had initially blamed and resented him for Quinn's relapse in Florida but after some time to consider it, Quinn had still made the final decision. Rachel had judged Jackson too harshly, too quickly, and it was unfair. She only hoped that he was at peace now, and that he knew that Quinn would be in good hands with her.

One day, when there were thirteen days to go until it had officially been three months according to the calendar and the haircut she'd had to get a few weeks ago, Rachel woke up slightly earlier than her alarm and padded around the kitchen to see if she had anything in the cupboards that remotely interested her enough to make for breakfast. As she didn't, she dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that she'd worn the afternoon before and prayed that nobody recognised her if she kept her head low and the baseball cap firmly on top of it. She was recognised often enough but being in such a large city it was easy to go unnoticed a lot of the time, too. At first that didn't appeal to her very much but she soon grew to love the anonymity the city could sometimes offer.

During the breakfast run three teenage girls behind her muttered to each other about their theory that the small woman in front was Rachel Berry, entertaining her for a couple of minutes while the line got shorter. She planned on cheerfully telling the girls to have a good day with an accompanied wink on her departure, also adding the cost of their order to her bill when they mentioned the unfairness of how beautiful she was without a scrap of make-up on and then how they knew lots of little facts about her, listing their extensive knowledge of her performances and albums. But the girls were big fans and they'd been waiting impatiently for Rachel's name to be called out for her order, so when it was they rushed her with excited squeals and hasty questions. During an enthusiastic hug from the tallest of the girls, Rachel's breakfast bagel was squashed but, gracious as she was, she didn't say a word.

It was always a pleasant experience when meeting her fans but she'd woken up hungry out of her mind and resorted to taking a large bite of the bagel in the elevator as it rose to her floor. In such a case of emergency, her eating habits were not particularly ladylike. Rachel had been about to swallow the chewed up mass inside her mouth, using her thumb to wipe the corner of her bottom lip of pesto when the elevator doors dinged open and she came face to face with Judy.

Her eyes widened a second before she had to cough up the food lodged in her throat. Following the clearing and soothing of her throat, Rachel touched a hand to her chest. "Excuse me," she said, dazed. Judy had aged quite a bit since the last time she had seen her but there was, as ever, an undeniable air of class about her. Rachel thought she looked wonderful. Judy's smile prompted Rachel's legs forward before the elevator doors closed on her. "Ms…Judy, hi. I-I wasn't expecting you."

"Hello, Rachel. Is it a bad time? I know it's quite early. Perhaps I should have called first."

Rachel automatically shook her head in dismissal. Judy carried her fear with similar physical nervous ticks and body language to Quinn, or rather, the other way around. Similar but not exactly the same. Judy's anxiety was less prominent in the eyes, more adept at concealing it.

"It's not a bad time at all. You just caught me in the middle of breakfast," Rachel smiled sheepishly.

"Would you like me to call back in a little while?"

"No, please," she insisted, fishing her keys out from her purse to unlock the door. "Come on in." Her apartment was thankfully in order. As if it wasn't mortifying enough to see Quinn's mother after so many years and look like she'd just rolled out of bed, which she kind of had. She was caught off guard and on-edge because of the impromptu visit. "Is Quinn okay?"

The mention of her daughter lessened Judy's tension noticeably. She followed Rachel through to the combined kitchen-dining area. "As I understand it, Quinn is doing remarkably well since the last time you saw her."

Rachel broke out into an uncontrollable smile. "Yeah?"

"She looks wonderful," Judy added. "Sounds wonderful. Compared to the morning she checked in, anyway. She was… she was incredibly ill that morning. I know three months isn't long enough to bring my daughter back to a version of herself that she's comfortable with, but she's getting there. We're both trying very hard and I'm very proud of her for that."

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes and no," she admitted after brushing off Rachel's apology for having nothing in to offer her to eat, and accepted a bottle of water graciously. They sat at the table. "Initially, I was prohibited from that place like I carried the plague. I went there several times and explained how badly I needed to speak with my daughter but they refused to let me in because Quinn was in withdrawal and her treatment required at least a two-week separation from the outside world and everybody in it. I found it ridiculous," Judy commented, realising she'd gone off on a tangent by the hint of a smile directed towards her. "I see her twice a week, once for a shared therapy session and once just for us. But it's never enough. We have a great deal to discuss and catch up on, and I'm not especially patient in my old age. There's… there's a lot that I have to make up for, things that I've wanted to do or say for many years, and a couple of hours at a time doesn't really come close."

There were so many things that Rachel wanted to say to Quinn after not even three months. How many things Judy had saved or bottled up over the years was difficult to imagine. "You'll have all of the time in the world when Quinn gets out in a couple of weeks."

"That's why I'm here, Rachel. Quinn has asked me to talk to you about something important to her. She would have called you herself if she could get to a phone but those idiots refuse to grant even their best patients access to one." Frustration hardened the line of Judy's brows but they slackened after a moment. "The people who work there are incredible, I shouldn't have said that. I just wish they would reward her when she's done so much to be rewarded for."

As much as Rachel wanted to speak with Quinn, it wasn't a stretch to think that Judy's opinion was a mother's attitude. Quinn may have done many wonderful things in the months that have passed but she wasn't there to be rewarded, she was there to claw her way back to some sort of control and normality to her life. The possibility of the message made her too nervous to sip at her coffee as she had been.

"What did Quinn want to say?"

"She said…" Judy smoothed her hand over the creased material covering her forearm. "Well, she said to tell you that she's missed you very much. Quinn speaks of you highly, and often. I can see why."

"It's mutual," Rachel returned happily.

"She also wanted me to pass on another message, and I'm not to tell you any other way than gently because, and I quote, 'Rachel will freak out and I don't want her to do that. I don't want her to have any doubts.' Okay?" Rachel nodded. "When Quinn is released in a couple of weeks, she can't see you right away. She needs some time to be in the city again, to live away from the safety net she's had underneath her for the past couple of months and to find out how she's going to handle that. She would hate to put you through any more than she already has, and she promises that she's going to call you just as soon as she can."

The oppressive hold of disappointment fastened around Rachel upon hearing that. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and scratched her nails over the join in the cardboard cup, nodding after not too long to at least acknowledge it. "Is she going to be staying with you?"

"Only temporarily. She asked me if I would look at some apartment listings and go along and view the ones she didn't immediately dismiss based off of one word in the ad. I appreciated having something else to fill my time with. I took photographs of inside the apartments and the building and she's going to view the ones she liked, granted they're still available."

It was a smart, responsible decision that Quinn had made and Rachel loved her for it, but having been working towards the reunion for the next couple of weeks she found it tough to break away from the dissatisfaction of not having an immediate number of days or weeks given to her, though she did try her hardest to look at the bigger picture and at least didn't allow her disappointment to be verbal. Quinn had told her of the way her face always had a lot to say and Rachel was sure that she had no control over that.

"Are you living in the city now?" Rachel asked.

"No, sweetie," Judy answered kindly. "Ohio is still my home. I re-married last year and my husband's work is there; it wouldn't be fair of me to ask him to move here. At least not right now. But I have been in New York for some time now. I wouldn't dream of leaving Quinnie more than a couple of days at a time like this, so I've been going back and forth every couple of weeks to see him, just a weekend at a time. There was only so much explaining I could do over the phone and I wanted him to understand."

"Does he?"

"He says so," Judy smiled. "But no, he's very supportive. And he never bats an eyelid at my credit card bills, bless him. Of course, that could also be the shock; one doesn't typically blink when they're out cold."

She saw that Rachel was trying to be positive and inwardly commended her on it at such a difficult time. Judy had been informed of the more-than-friendly nature of Quinn and Rachel's relationship during one of her first visits with Quinn in rehab. It was difficult to hear at first, and though she'd asked Quinn if she was positive —because Lord knows she knew it must have been difficult to meet a nice man who surrounded himself around drugs, there was a part of her that wasn't bowled over by it, didn't try to deny it. Judy had a lot of time over the past years to reflect on a lot of things. One of the things that had always stuck with her was her daughter's perfunctory smiles around most of the boys she'd dated in school. They used to spike right through Judy in the middle of the night sometimes when she'd lay awake and think about Quinn, wonder where she was and what she was doing; if she was happy. If she was even alive. Admittedly, Judy didn't know Quinn the way a mother should know her daughter, but she did know that Quinn had never truly been in love the last time she'd seen her. Quinn had loved by then, but she had never been in love.

Judy had never seen Quinn shine with it back then.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't an ideal situation. Faith didn't play the biggest role in her disappointment but the way Quinn would be treated and targeted by other people. It wasn't easy to think about yet, but Judy had tried to come to peace with it and was doing her best to learn to accept it in a way that didn't make her sit across from the woman of her daughter's affections and nervously smooth out her clothes. By nobody's standards was that an easy thing to do, not for a woman like her, but she had spent the past two and half months supporting her daughter through a drug addiction. When taking that blow into consideration, sexuality wasn't as important as it may have been six to eight years ago.

No matter how dark Quinn's secrets and thoughts, the fact remained that Judy slept sounder when she was awarded glances into her daughter's head. Quinn had cried during their first therapy session (and almost every one after that, as well), and Judy took a deep breath and separated the hands neatly folded in her lap, placing one on top of Quinn's as she told her that there was nothing in the world she wanted Quinn to feel like she had to hide from her. And remarkably, she still meant it. She wouldn't be making an announcement in the paper or broadcasting it to every friend and neighbour any time soon, but if people should ask, she imagined that she would choose her words carefully and tell people that Quinn was happy with who she was, and that was more than enough for her.

Quinn had grown up in so many ways that Judy missed out on but she could see the new woman that Quinn was becoming, far different from the angry young woman who had left the house years ago and never looked back, and she knew that the reason for the change mainly stemmed from her daughter's old friends and Rachel. Judy would forever be grateful to their positive influence.

"She'll call me?" Rachel asked after processing it a little more.

"Yes," Judy confirmed. "She was very clear about that."

"I think it's a good idea. Would you tell her that? And that I'm glad she's thinking about the future realistically and taking the time she needs. I know you can't put a time frame on her recovery and I wouldn't ever want her to. There's no rush. Whenever she's ready."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that, Rachel. Just as much as I do." The barely perceptible nod prompted Judy to lean forward and hesitantly touch her fingers to Rachel's, a brief contact but contact all the same. "Rachel, I really want to make sure you understand how thankful I am for you, for the role you've played in all of this. Well, all of you. You've all been such wonderful friends, and…more than friends, however that situation currently stands. Quinn said what a strong, wonderful person you were and after hearing some of the stories about how you handled situations, well, I don't know about wonderful. You must be a saint. Lord knows it can't have been easy."

"No," Rachel agreed, her smile sobering quickly to give way to a pinch of her brows. "No, it was never easy, but it was something that I adapted to and faced head-on every day without really thinking about it. It's funny, I didn't… I never forgot about the drugs, not for a second, but there were moments when it all sort of faded away. I'd be looking at Quinn or we'd be hanging out, alone or with the group, and she would act normal and I would stop worrying for a few minutes because it was _Quinn_ and she was back after so many years, you know?" Her head inclined forward. "It was always a bit of rude awakening when she'd be different again."

"I can imagine."

"She was also great with me; so patient when I know I pushed her to her limits. It wasn't just Quinn who made a lot of mistakes along the way, that's for sure. But at the same time, despite how serious things were, it wasn't all bad. We had fun," Rachel said. "We all had good times together that didn't feel tainted or influenced in any way. It wasn't always like Quinn was out of her mind. I had such a warped view and opinion of addicts before her. I thought all drug addicts were, like, dregs of society and horrible, unworthy people who were so different from everybody I have ever known, but they're not. At least not most of them. They're just regular people who made bad choices and got lost somewhere along the way."

Judy lifted her eyebrows as if she understood exactly what Rachel meant by that. It was the sad truth of too many people in the world.

X

The rhythmic sounds of Rachel's feet treading down as she ran could be heard over the music playing. After sharing gym time with a kind elderly gentleman who took a brisk walk on the treadmill beside her for a little over thirty minutes, she was finally the only resident of her building currently making use of the gym. She was burning off the nervous kind of energy prior to a meeting with the label execs. Rachel wasn't entirely sure what they wanted to talk to her about —Johnny promised he wasn't keeping it from her, he just didn't know, and odds were it wouldn't be anything to worry about but she'd woken up restless and the added pressure of an impromptu meeting with the boss had turned her anxious. An early morning run hadn't helped, but perhaps a midday one would.

That was, if Kurt would stop calling her to talk about an adventurous recipe he had mastered for dinner last night. She got it; he could cook, and she was certainly excited at the prospect of eating food that she hadn't had to cook for herself but there was only so much enthusiasm she could offer without him getting suspicious at the telling high tone of her voice. The end of their last phone call had been him reminding her about the time of the barbeque being thrown in two weeks' time at Mercedes and Sam's rental. The group were flying in to keep their promise of seeing each other as regularly as they could all manage it, and every few months happened to be the most realistic goal for most of them. Rachel didn't need reminding of such an event but it was a pleasant reminder all the same, and she could always use more of those.

Her phone rang again a mere handful of minutes since the last time and she reached up to her ear to accept it, still running.

"Kurt, I love you but please don't subject me to that story again," she said pre-emptively, forgoing a proper greeting. "I don't have it in me to act interested anymore."

"What story?"

Rachel's rhythm was thrown out of whack and pure instinct was the only reason she didn't end up on the floor; rapidly latching each hand onto the side bars and lifting herself up from the track before any damage could be inflicted. She stared ahead blankly, breathing heavily. "Quinn."

The dazed tone prompted a barely audible breath of laughter. "Hi, Rachel."

Shock paralysed Rachel for another second longer. "Hi," she responded automatically, shaking her head a second later, a smile taking over her face. "Oh, my god, hey. Hi. H-how are you? When did you get out?"

"Stronger," Quinn stated wistfully. "And a little under an hour? Maybe forty-five minutes. My Mom wanted to go for coffee but I couldn't go in the shop and do something as simple as place an order without thinking that it should be you I was talking to, so I brought it away with me and here I am."

The past three months had been littered with occasions where Rachel's mind was plagued with questions she wanted to ask Quinn, things she made mental and literal notes to talk to her about when they had the opportunity to speak again, but now that the moment had arisen her mind was blank.

"What kind of coffee?"

Quinn was still drinking the last few mouthfuls of it. "Regular black," she answered, sounding amused. "Should I have texted you first? I didn't think. Are you busy? I can call back whenever you want."

"Don't you dare hang up," Rachel commanded. "And no, of course not, I'm sorry. You just surprised me; my heart's beating so fast for you," she admitted, one hand over her chest. "I had so many things to say but my mind is blank, I don't— I don't know why."

"I missed you," Quinn said. "So much. I can't wait to see you."

"I missed you too, Quinn. When do you think it will be?"

"As soon as I can. I mean, I know I'm going to have to live with it to really understand how I'm going to cope with being in recovery —because that's never going away; I'm always going to be a recovering addict, but I feel like I need to be… not alone, I know I'm not alone, but I need to know how I'm going to cope when I'm not surrounded by people twenty-four seven. I need to know that I can cope when it's just me."

"Are you scared?"

"Do you think I should be?"

Rachel smiled. "No. I know you can do anything."

"I'm a little nervous," Quinn confessed. "But not scared. Feel pretty confident, actually. I've just gotten used to being around and interacting with certain people at certain points of the day, it's going to be strange to break the routine of it."

"You can call them for support, right?"

"Yes. I have numbers to call for support and appointments with my therapist and case worker to track progression or regression. They haven't just kicked me out. I'm nowhere close to being fixed in a lot of ways, but I am ready to be out."

Rachel had heard Quinn's voice whenever she caught the group's single on the radio or if it happened to play on her iPod, but she was trying to get used to hearing Quinn's speaking voice again. She had to remind herself to not listen so hard in case she missed anything. "You sound different," she observed softly.

"I feel different. The people there were incredible. I've learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time, it's pretty amazing."

"Quinn, I can't…even begin to explain how proud I am of you."

"Are you finally speechless?"

"For now," Rachel laughed. This had been such a long time coming, but she didn't doubt that the right words would present themselves to her eventually. "Don't count on it lasting long."

"So, what am I keeping you from?"

"Nothing at all."

"I'm going to be pretty embarrassed if you don't tell me that I interrupted a jog or some rigorous stretching when you answered the phone breathing heavily."

"I was _running_ ," Rachel stressed lightly. She could practically see the awkward expression covering Quinn's face. "Why would I answer Kurt's call if I was doing anything close to that?"

"I don't know."

"I was trying to burn off all of the nervous energy I had." She went on to tell Quinn all about the meeting she had to be at in a few hours' time and how well the single and album did, how grateful the victims were to them. Rachel went to get more comfortable and then her topics strayed for a wider conversation. She told Quinn about her adventures of the past three months; including how she celebrated both Christmas and Hanukah, her trips, the book, and the pasta machine. Falling back into a routine of sharing herself with Quinn was effortless.

X

As it turned out, the meeting was nothing for Rachel to have fretted over.

She was asked how she would feel at the chance of recording another album with the group, if it was something she would be interested in while also being reassured that it would not take away from their interest at her solo material or cut into any acting performances she may be auditioning for in the near future.

Her first question was to find out what everybody else had said, but being as she was the first person to be approached regarding the new opportunity she wasn't given an answer. Everybody else was to be called in for a meeting or, if inconvenient, called or be a part of a video conference over the next week.

Rachel couldn't be sure of what her friends would say; she knew they had their own lives and dreams, but her answer was obvious from the moment the words had registered.

X

The reunion had been a loud, squealing mess when Rachel arrived at Sam and Mercedes' house. Hugs and kisses and stories of the past couple of months aside, Rachel steered the conversation towards the prospect of working together again by not being subtle at all.

They were all standing or sitting around the table on the patio waiting for their food to cook on the grill and thankful for the outside heaters positioned around so that none of them would grow hypothermic during lunch when Rachel candidly asked, "So, when are we recording our next album?"

There was an exchange of cash between several people and Finn looked especially dismayed at losing another bet involving Rachel. "Couldn't you have at least waited until we were eating?"

"Do you know how hard it was to wait even this long? It took every bit of self-control I have, Finn."

"Your restraint is really something."

Rachel flicked a peanut shell at him for his sarcasm. "So," she pressed on excitedly, "what do you guys think?"

"It's a lot to think about," Puck sighed thoughtfully, missing a quirk of her brow.

"You've had ten days. That's two-hundred and forty hours to decide on a yes or no answer."

"Well, when you put it like that…" he trailed off with a roll of his eyes.

"We already have the talent," Rachel reasoned. "And the offer, the studio, and most importantly, the fans. This isn't a gamble. And we'll all be together again. We don't have to live in each other's pockets or anything —we'll still have our own lives and projects, but won't it be nice to work together for just us, with no immediate rush to get everything recorded? We can take our time and be surrounded by amazing people while we write incredible music." Rachel expected an immediate agreement from him. She thought she'd really sold it.

"I have regular customers," he fretted. "Some real nice old people. What if some other dude tries to rip them off?"

"Recommend a good one!" she came back with, a little shrill. Puck's indecision was written all over his face and Rachel was softer the next time. "Recommend a friend, someone you trust, and tell your favourites that you'll be back in town during certain dates and to call you if they're desperate."

Puck's lip jutted out as he considered it. "That could work."

"Of course it could," she smiled confidently. Rachel turned to look at everybody else. "So?"

"I'm so in," Tina grinned.

A rapid chorus of agreement from everybody else followed and Rachel cheered loudly, reaching beside her to squeeze Puck's hand hard enough for a flicker of discomfort to flash over his face. Some of them were happy at the prospect of quitting their regular jobs but not everybody was jumping up and down in their seats at the idea of it. Brittany was attached to more than a handful of children at the nursery in LA and it would be difficult to leave them again. It was hard enough to say goodbye when they left themselves. At least the day care company was run by a close friend and she could go back and visit them whenever she wanted. Being around all of her friends again and get paid for it was too good to pass up. Maybe she and Mike could even work some choreography into their performances.

Finn couldn't help but catch Rachel's infectious enthusiasm and laughter, but there was one thing he wanted to say; something everybody had agreed to before Rachel had arrived. "Rach, you know there's a condition for this, right?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, but don't get greedy. The label will only agree to so much."

As if Finn Hudson had a list of demands. He was still a simple guy. "I think — _we_ think— we should only do this is if Quinn's in. A full group. What'd she say about all of this?"

The group had all heard about Rachel's phone calls with Quinn and knew that they had been speaking regularly for the past couple of weeks.

"It hasn't come up," she edged.

"It hasn't come up?" Mercedes doubted that.

"We've had more pressing matters to discuss, Mercedes."

"Like how you wish it was her hand sliding under your skirt?" Puck cut in, purely for the reaction. He got his wish in the form of a harsh twist of his fingers.

"No!" Rachel swallowed but turned almost bashful. She could feel her face heating and hoped it wasn't enough to be obvious. "She's got a lot on her plate right now, I-I didn't want to pressure her with work."

"So you ask her how she feels about it," he said, rationally this time.

"I never thought of that," she said airily, the mocking quality going right over his head.

"It's what I'm here for, babe."

Mike clapped Puck on the shoulder on the way to help Kurt and Blaine turn the meat and kebabs on the grill while Brittany nudged Santana and lifted a wine glass to her lips, subtly turning her watch to Santana's line of sight. In turn, Santana kicked Sam underneath the table. He coughed some Coke out of his throat at the unexpectedness of it, and then tried to keep the glint out of his eyes. Mercedes rubbed his back soothingly and checked her phone which was hiding beside a large salad bowl and a pitcher of a virgin cocktail. She slid her hand around to his side after a second, squeezing lightly.

Sam looked across the table to Finn. "Dude, did you bring the meat-free stuff out for Rachel?"

"I thought you were doing it."

"I asked you to."

"No, you didn't," Sam denied.

Finn managed to appear genuinely confused. "Oh. Sorry, man, thought I did." He pushed his chair backwards and made an attempt to move when Rachel spoke out, shooting up off her chair.

"I'll go."

Artie was quick to shake his head and roll into action before Rachel could take a step. "Lady, sit your butt down and allow me."

She sat back down slowly with a pleasantly surprised curve of her lips, delighted at the gesture. It was forgotten when Tina asked her if they would all have equal say in what material was valid to be considered for their album. Rachel knew Tina had her own fans from before their first album, mainly from her covers of songs made famous by other people, but she also knew that Tina had been working on original material for a couple of years now and would be thrilled to hear some more of it. If the execs weren't quite so excited then she would make it her mission to get them onboard, but she had already been promised that they would be considered a group instead of a various artists act. Each and every member was crucial and had something different to offer to attract and ensure a wider fan base, and the label would do anything to keep that.

Rachel assured Tina that she would have a valid say in what went into the album, creative freedom and all, and couldn't wait to get together and hear her songs. "I've also been putting pen to paper lately."

Finn, having been eavesdropping, grimaced. Tina noticed and Rachel's eyes followed to catch the end of the expression before it smoothed off his face. She chuckled and stretched her hand out to pat his forearm. "My songwriting skills have improved since high school, honey." When his toothy smile looked forced, she added, "I wrote seventy per-cent of my debut album! Three of the four singles were number one or at least in the top three, and it stayed in the top ten sellers list for—"

Finn knew what had caused Rachel's sentence to die abruptly and turned around with a truly genuine smile to see their guest of honour standing beside Artie, who had a lipstick print on his cheek that had yet to be wiped off.

Quinn laughed softly at the screams of her friends and the way that most of them abandoned their seats and the grill to rush over and hug her. She embraced each of them equally as fiercely and told them all how good it was to see them as well, looking over Finn's shoulder when he lifted her off the ground to stare at Rachel behind him.

Rachel's eyes burned and her chest caught and throbbed at the sight. She couldn't even speak properly. What came out to Tina, who was halfway out of her seat to greet Quinn herself, was a breathy, tremulous garble. "Did you know?" She couldn't breathe and she would find her hands to be shaking if she looked down but she didn't think to. Rachel mirrored Tina's action of rising out of her seat without thinking about it.

"Of course we knew," Tina confirmed happily before rushing off to be next in line to hug Quinn. At least this time it was a good secret they kept.

Rachel found Quinn to still be surrounded by the time she walked by her on the way inside the house, leaving the door open. She blew out a nervous breath and had just enough time to smooth out her hair and clothes and feel anxious at the wait, which couldn't have been more than half a minute at most when Quinn walked up to the door and closed it behind her.

Quinn smiled nervously but sincerely when it was just the two of them. Keeping this little secret from Rachel for almost two whole weeks had been murder; she'd nearly slipped up so many times. But it had all been worth it to see the look on her face when she walked out.

The past three and a half months had been worth it to see the look on her face.

They met in the middle of the kitchen.

Being pressed so tightly together could only mean that after so long, Rachel felt the thunderous beat of Quinn's heart against her own chest and was positive Quinn would feel the same sensation against hers, but the last time they were in a room together Rachel's had raced then too, while Quinn's struggled to beat at all. Rachel tried to hold her closer.

Quinn looked so different; so healthy and vibrant and alive that Rachel wasn't embarrassed for the tears that had spilled out. This was how she had pictured Quinn to look that day she walked down the hallway to 8E for the first time, but it was only ever when she saw Quinn in the flesh that she realised how poor of a substitute her imagination was for how beautiful Quinn really was.

"Quinn," Rachel whispered.

Quinn's hands began to move on Rachel's back when she felt her crying; large, comforting strokes. It aided both of them. To be able to touch Rachel again… "It's okay."

Both of them were reluctant to separate, but eventually Rachel had to. She pulled back slightly, close enough for Quinn's arms to fall around her hips instead, and reached up to brush back long, choppy blonde hair. She kept one hand on Quinn's face and closed her eyes, tipping her head forward. Rachel had gone to the barbeque in casual footwear, meaning that Quinn in her wedges was too tall for Rachel to lean her forehead against Quinn's like she really wanted to. She found it to matter less when she felt the warm press of Quinn's mouth against her forehead instead.

"I really hope you feel as incredible as you look," she said, feeling Quinn smile against her skin. "You look so good; healthy."

"I feel amazing."

Rachel couldn't stop touching her and she tilted her head back up to be able to take in all of the wonderful changes as well as the aching comfort and familiarity that was just Quinn, no matter what. "God, I missed you so much, Quinn."

"You have no idea."

Quinn felt Rachel's hand shift in her hair, spreading further across to hold the back of her head while a more serious look filled her eyes. Quinn would have been blind not to identify it and an idiot not to recognise the same desire rushing to every cell in her own body. She waited to see if Rachel would change her mind and, when she didn't, leaned down to close +the distance. Rachel met her halfway, eagerly accepting her mouth against her own to convey over three months' worth of longing.

Rachel had recalled their kisses during their separation many times, but much like the way in which her imagination failed to live up to Quinn in the flesh, she hadn't been able to fully grasp how greatly it affected and thrilled her until it was happening.

Quinn's hands tightened at Rachel's hips, sliding their mouths together hotly as the pads of Rachel's fingers pressed harder against her scalp, trying to pull Quinn's mouth firmer against her own. It was an impossible task but one that Rachel saw fit to attempt several times, manoeuvring the other hand from Quinn's back to travel a steady path upwards until she had each side of Quinn's head in her hands, able to press the full length of their bodies more tightly together.

The topic of where their relationship stood had been brought up during several of their conversations during the past couple of weeks, and though they had both been honest that it was both too soon to rush right into anything and that three months was long enough for a substantial shift in feelings when taking into consideration that they had barely had the chance to be together before the overdose, not enough had changed that either of them could think of doing anything else. They had a lot of things to discuss, lines to draw and expectations and needs to be expressed on both sides, but it all felt like things that could wait until later when Rachel's tongue slipped into Quinn's mouth. Different needs had to come first.

Rachel remembered the layout of the kitchen well enough to walk backwards and tug Quinn with her until they bumped into the counter.

Her hands fell from Quinn's head, leisurely moving down her body until they rested upon the curve of her ass. Rachel hadn't intended for that to happen, forgetting to keep them at the small of her back instead, but Quinn's kisses muddled her thoughts to where she couldn't process much else besides each press and slide of lips and the way Quinn's mouth made her body heat.

Not even a heavy thud against the glass of the back door broke them apart.

Puck couldn't see much, and he tried his best to be a gentleman and kept his eyes averted —to a degree. But he saw enough to know that there wasn't much talking going on. "Cut it out," he said in faux exasperation. "Save the good stuff till later. Right now you should get out here and hang, eat good food; build up your energy for when the sun goes down."

Neither of them could exactly ignore his voice. Quinn smiled and then laughed delicately at how his statement had added to the colour of her face. She leaned back in and nuzzled Rachel's face, brushing her nose over silky skin until she kissed Rachel's cheek; long and impulsive.

"Do you want to kill him, or should I?"

Rachel turned and gave Quinn one final kiss on the lips before pulling away. One glance to the door confirmed that Puck had already scampered. She was charmed by the minor embarrassment to Quinn's face. "Ignore him."

If Quinn had felt any bit of mortification at getting caught in an intimate embrace with Rachel, it disappeared when she saw the open amusement in Rachel's eyes, unaware of the smear of lipstick over and around her mouth. She grinned at the sight and spent the time to carefully wipe it away with Rachel doing the same to her afterwards.

There was no doubt in Quinn's mind that Puck had announced to everyone what she and Rachel had been doing —and she didn't care as long as she wasn't caught doing it, because kissing was acceptable around friends and family but making out was a different story and she couldn't help but want that privacy, especially as she and Rachel being _Quinn and Rachel_ was so new, and not even a definite thing yet. Despite the sure-fire way that their friends had been clued in, Rachel still carried out an armful of extra plates that absolutely would not get used unless the residents from the entire block would be joining them.

"The extra plates you asked for," Rachel announced, grateful to place the heavy load onto the table. She turned to find Quinn directly behind her, carrying the other stack. She smiled slowly, an intimate glint to her eyes. "Thank you, Quinn," she said politely, getting flustered when Quinn purposely brushed their hands together on the exchange.

Mercedes lifted a brow. "Girl, who do you think is coming for lunch?"

Rachel shrugged. "You asked for them."

"I didn't mention anything about plates."

"No, I think you did," she hastened to say.

Mercedes gave her a pitying laugh. She knew what had happened in the kitchen even without Puck's little declaration a minute ago. "All right, Rach, guess I forgot. Thank you for those."

While Quinn required treatment for an addiction, alcohol was not one of them. Kurt had talked to Quinn on the phone just last night to ask if she would be comfortable with alcohol being present and so Blaine felt confident enough to hold two bottles of wine up to her so they could toast. He was relieved when Quinn chose the white and filled a small glass for her.

A multitude of questions were directed at Quinn after that.

She did her best to answer them and sat down beside Brittany when her hand was taken and tugged on. It was on the other end of the table to Rachel but she couldn't deny how much she had missed all of her friends. It was good to be so close to them again.

She'd just finished telling them about some of the other patients she had met there —friends she had made— when she decided that she'd like to hear about their lives, too. They must have been up to incredible things in the past few months. "So, what about you guys?" Everyone looked to each other and she smiled around a small sip of wine. After not drinking a drop of alcohol in over three months, it was sharp on her tongue. It would be her first and only glass of wine for the day. "Come on, ladies," she prompted, adding, "and gents," as an afterthought.

"We're making a new album!" Finn declared passionately, unable to contain his excitement.

Rachel's face fell and she side-eyed him darkly.

Quinn smiled at the sight. She'd gotten that phone call, as well. It was something she was still weighing up in her head, grateful to the label for the congratulations on her recovery and how they made her the same offer regarding the album in spite of her recent personal trouble while also assuring her to mull the decision over "Not exactly small news," she commented. "That's amazing. Congratulations on the offer."

"Yeah, but, like, we don't want to do it without you. You think maybe you could join us, if it isn't too much pressure?"

Rachel scratched the back of her neck, a plastic smile stuck to her face as she turned to him. "Stop talking," she said through her teeth.

Blaine felt sorry for Finn and decided to steer the subject away from work. "Quinn, I'm sorry, I can't keep it to myself for a second longer. You look breathtaking. You always were, but this right now? Wow."

Kurt nodded. "In spite of how slimy my boyfriend managed to make that sound, I'm going to have to agree," he said, meaning it more when she smiled at him.

Rachel could recite poetry at Quinn's beauty but refrained from subjecting their friends to that just yet. It would only procure teasing jibes and dry-heaving. She made no promises for the future though, and settled for following Quinn's almost every move with her eyes, trying to get used to being able to see her in the flesh again.

While Quinn held the attention of the entire table and Mike —who was still minding the grill, Finn's large hand covered Rachel's smaller one. "I'm really sorry if I said something I wasn't supposed to. But it could be really different this time. Like you said, there's no rush with this one. She's different. Less pressure all around, you know?"

Rachel nodded compassionately. "It's okay. After last time, I just worry, you know?"

"Totally understandable," he said. "At least ask her about it?"

"Of course." Rachel turned her hand over and held his, giving it a gentle squeeze as she focused back on the conversation taking place down the table.

"Did you learn anything?" Brittany asked. "You know, like when you go to jail you learn a trade for good behaviour. Was it like that?"

"Learned how to swim," Quinn replied, finding Rachel to already be looking at her when she sought out eye-contact.

That would forever be the most valuable thing she could have ever been taught. Quinn would never forget the people who had equipped her with that skill. She had felt like she was drowning so many times before, not just over the past six years, and she now understood that expectations placed on her, by others or herself, didn't have to sweep over her like a tidal wave if they weren't met to her previous perfect standards. Past regrets and disappointments didn't have the power to pull her under any longer, either.

"Awesome," Brittany replied, unsure if Quinn was being literal but proud of her nonetheless.

"So, what's freedom feel like after three months?" Puck asked.

Quinn took a second to consider it. "I don't know, I kind of feel like freedom came when I checked into rehab, and a lot of the time before that was prison."

"Wow."

"I know," she agreed coyly. "Can you tell I've been in therapy?"

Puck smiled because he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable. "But it feels good, right?"

"It feels… You know, good doesn't begin to cover it."

"We're so proud of you," Santana added seriously, wanting that out there again, making a toast to her friend's recovery. "You're like a fucking rockstar."

Quinn raised her glass and clinked it against each glass or beer bottle that came close enough to hers. Tina practically threw herself over the table to stretch over and clink her glass to Quinn's, misty-eyed at the sight of her friend looking so much better than she had three months ago. The only person who hadn't toasted was Rachel, who was muttering something to Finn. Quinn wasn't sure what they were saying and she was certain she was being rude but she still stood up.

"Finn, would you mind if I stole your seat?"

Finn had been in the middle of telling Rachel, who had asked the same question, that he didn't feel particularly inclined to move as he was comfortable where he was, but as soon as the words were out of Quinn's mouth his body sprung up. His action was abrupt and ill co-ordinated, managing to knock the table and send an almost empty bottle of wine on its side.

"Crap. Sorry, guys," he mumbled, righting it before stepping aside to allow Quinn to sit down in his place. His effort to move had been worth it to see look that Quinn and Rachel shared, and he couldn't help but lean down and press a long, playful kiss to Quinn's face, his arms wrapped around her neck. This is what was supposed to have happened. When they were recording the first album and he used to imagine the future, this is kind of almost how he pictured it. Quinn always had the strength to get here.

Even in high school, underneath the lingering hurt caused by the little girl growing inside of Quinn — whom he'd fallen in love with— not being his, he always knew that of Quinn. When he thought of her, the first words to spring to mind were always 'force of nature' and 'gorgeous.' Nothing had changed.

Rachel insisted on toasting to Quinn's recovery now that they were close together.

Quinn was licking her lips of residual wine when she thought of a question to ask her. When everybody impatiently queried how long it would take for their meat to finish cooking, she seized the opportunity to ask it. "How was the field?"

A laugh bubbled out of Rachel. "Wonderful? Exhilarating? A little chilly at times?"

"Quinn!" Mercedes screeched.

Quinn's face was still lit up at Rachel's response when she turned to Mercedes, putting her hand on top of Rachel's on the table. "Yes?"

"Where's your Mom?"

Brittany laughed unreservedly. "Did you only just notice she wasn't here?"

"She's at my new place," Quinn said.

Mercedes stared blankly. "Why is she there? I told you to bring her!"

"She didn't want to impose!"

"Girl, give me your phone. I'll call her. Let her try to say no to me."

Judy arrived a little while later with dessert, an unsteady smile and an awkwardly hesitant wave. Quinn was out of her seat first, whispering something in her mother's ear that seemed to loosen some of the tension coiled in her shoulders. The first genuine smile was directed towards Rachel, though, who had gotten up from her seat to walk over and greet her with a warm one-armed hug.

Everybody was polite and welcoming to Judy, something she appreciated greatly considering the stories she knew they'd more than likely heard about her in the past. The conversation ran effortlessly and there hadn't been a single squabble in at least ten minutes when Mike asked what Judy would like to eat, listing off all of the meat products already cooked and put to keep warm on the shelf above the grill. Finn and Puck both took it upon themselves to fill Judy's plate. To score points, really. High school almost felt like a lifetime ago but after everything that had happened with dating Quinn and the fact that it was Quinn's _mother_ sitting there, they wanted to make a good impression to show that they'd grown into mature, responsible men.

It didn't make quite the impression that they hoped for but Judy wasn't inept at picking up on signals and she understood what they were trying to do all the same. When an over-filled plate filled with various meats and salad was placed down in front of her, each of them holding a side until it was sturdy on the table, Judy offered them a thankful nod of her head and placed a napkin over her lap the way Quinn had done when she'd sat down with her food.

"Thank you, Finn," Judy said, catching his puppy smile before she faced to the right. "Thank you, Noah."

She'd been gracious but the guys' paranoia picked up on a tone in her voice and a flash of something in her eyes. Like a mother's natural protectiveness, or something. They weren't sure. They just knew they would have to be on their best behaviour. It was all in their heads, obviously. Puck ran into Judy from time to time back home. They weren't exactly on good terms —or any terms, really— but she had never tried to run him down in her car, either.

The food had long been finished when Judy looked up from her conversation with Mercedes, who she found to be delightful, and spotted Quinn and Rachel standing around the drink's table a short distance away with Sam and Artie. Rachel added a garnish to a red cocktail and presented it towards Quinn who made a show of wincing before taking a sip. She smiled privately at her daughter's immediate reaction; the way her eyes squeezed shut, turning swiftly to the side with her hand over her mouth and straightening a second later to raucous laughter. Quinn's mouth hung wide open, a revolted expression pinching her brows together.

"Rachel," Quinn shivered in disgust and shook her shoulders to work some of the fire out of her chest. "Oh God, that is…"

"Delicious?"

"Disgusting."

"What? It's good!" Rachel chuckled, taking the glass from Quinn's hand to offer it to Artie or Sam. They both hastily declined.

"Dare you."

She took Quinn's challenge head on, downing the cocktail in four long gulps. "Roadkill Rachel's for everyone!" she exclaimed afterwards, pretending not to hear the groans.

Judy was unsure of the contents to such a drink but she didn't allow herself to be concerned for too long when she could clearly see the way Quinn looked at Rachel. It wasn't hard to spot once they were together. Quinn shone around her.

Santana didn't bother to hide her displeasure when Rachel began to traipse over with two cocktails, one for her and the other for Judy. "Don't drink it," she forewarned. "It tastes like acid."

Rachel placed Judy's drink down first, complete with a napkin and Judy was surprised with the vibrant colour of it up close. "Oh. Thank you, darling."

"My pleasure," Rachel responded eagerly, smiling encouragingly at Santana when she presented her friend with hers, sans napkin. "Enjoy."

Santana gave her the thumbs up and waited until Rachel's back was turned to toss the contents of her glass over her shoulder. "Trust me," she said to Judy's arched brow.

X

Quinn had kept many journals in rehab for lots of different reasons, but one was specifically reserved for the dreams that came regularly and vividly now that her mind was clean. She wrote down every one of them that she could remember; even the pieces that didn't connect. With her more outlandish dreams, she spent some of her free time tracing over the words to make them stand out on the page, adding doodles and captions to the paper.

Rachel was enthralled with it when Quinn gave it to her the first time she went over to visit Quinn's new apartment after their sixth official date—a _vast_ improvement to the other one, even if Rachel did find the old one sort of charming in a strange way. She only put the journal down and stopped her animated commentary on it when Quinn got up from the couch to get her ringing phone from the bedroom a little while later and Rachel realised she hadn't seen it yet. More than curious, she followed, pausing in the doorway.

Quinn's new room was slightly bigger than her old one but not spacious enough to be considered large. It was still New York and Quinn was by no means rich right now, even if she had reluctantly accepted a loan from her mother when she'd just been released from the clinic with the promise to pay her back with interest. The walls were painted a soft neutral colour that was pleasing to the eye and Rachel scanned the room with her eyes, taking in the furniture and pictures hung up on the walls before she padded across the thick cream-coloured carpet to Quinn's bed. It was also new; king-sized instead of a double. Rachel had to push up on her toes and lift her other knee up fairly high to kneel up onto it but it was already something she didn't mind doing when she crawled over the soft plushness of it to reach Quinn on the other side of the bed.

Quinn was in the middle of listening to Johnny talk to her about a meeting for tomorrow when the bed shifted with Rachel's movements. She smiled when short arms wrapped around her neck from behind, and reached up to hold and rub Rachel's forearm as she finished up on the phone.

Rachel dotted several kisses to the side of Quinn's face and below her ear to pass the time.

"It's late, Johnny," Rachel said loudly after being patient for almost an entire minute.

Quinn leaned back against her for that, smiling at Johnny's response on the phone. "I know, I can't take her anywhere," she said. "Yeah, I'll be there. Should I bring coffee?" Their meeting would be early and though she didn't necessarily need caffeine to start her day, it was an olive branch. She wanted to make more of an effort with him this time around. She wanted him to like her. Even if she hadn't decided about the album yet, he was still an important connection for Rachel and kept her secret when it didn't benefit him to do so.

Rachel was pleased when the call ended shortly after, moving to the other side of the bed where she was comfortably propped up with two pillows. She raised a shoulder casually once Quinn turned around to her. "You have to be firm with him."

"Is that what you call it?"

"What else would you call it?"

Quinn smirked as she crawled over to her. "I don't know, I can think of a few things."

"Enlighten me."

"Rather kiss you, but okay," Quinn started, stopping her ascent over Rachel's body to move over to her own side of the bed.

Rachel swiftly rose up to fist the material of Quinn's dress and pull her back down. Quinn braced a hand on the pillow beside Rachel's head, entertained by the surprising show of strength until she was being kissed. It didn't matter how often it had occurred over the past couple of weeks, or whatever way it happened, being with Rachel like this was still the quickest way to make her feel alive and be grateful for that.

Her arm bent to curl around Rachel's head instead, lowering herself onto Rachel's side more fully. They'd never kissed in bed before; it was nice. More than nice. When Rachel kissed her more deeply, dragging a stationary hand down Quinn's shoulder and back until it was firmly planted on one of her favourite parts of Quinn's body, Quinn's hand had its own wander. And when they stopped kissing and started making out, growing bolder and more heated with each kiss and brush of tongues, Rachel braced her foot against the mattress and pushed her weight over to overpower Quinn underneath, not that she needed much persuasion to be under Rachel anyway.

Rachel kissed her the way she'd fantasized about on more than several occasions during their separation and was getting more than a little worked up when the lower half of her body shifted of its own accord. Quinn's responding hitch of breath against Rachel's mouth and the tightening of her fingers that roamed her back made Rachel do it again, this time to a quiet moan.

Quinn's retaliation to Rachel's senses was to kiss from her lips to her chin and then the soft curve of her jaw, encouraging a turn of Rachel's head until Quinn had her exactly where she wanted her; pressing long, broad kisses into her neck.

Quinn did something like that each time they would get caught up in each other and she felt her body respond to Rachel.

She'd had sex in the past few years. Not tons, but enough, and in enough ways and with enough different people to know that not being able to come had everything to do with her and nothing to do with her partners. It usually took her a while to even get stimulated down there, let alone hope for the grand finale. She eventually found out that it was likely the heroin in her system to blame for that but she'd never been able to properly put that theory to the test until recently.

Safe to say that theory was correct.

Quinn continued her ministrations until there was a heavier quality to Rachel's breaths and Rachel was pulling back sufficiently to look down at her with almost drunken eyes that could always read her like a book. Quinn watched Rachel observe her, almost; looking for signs that she always picked up on easily ever since high school, even when Quinn didn't want her to. Especially when Quinn didn't want her to.

Rachel leaned down to re-join their lips but it was different than before; it was long and sweet, and with a final soft peck to Quinn's mouth, Rachel moved off her. To dissolve any confusion or fear, she rubbed her hand over Quinn's stomach just as she prepared to climb down from the bed.

"I'm going to get my new favourite book," she said, smile bright.

Quinn's hand managed to brush over the back of Rachel's before she was off the bed and on her way out of the room. With the absence, Quinn was afforded a private moment where she could collect herself. Her body was buzzing and she closed her eyes, bringing a hand up to push her fingers through her hair. Quinn's dress had hiked up some during her activities with Rachel but not enough that she felt the need to pull it back down. It wasn't that she didn't want to be intimate with Rachel but more of a timing issue. She'd had numerous thoughts of being with Rachel like that but she needed to talk to her first; they both had to talk. While she could let a little heavy kissing pass, she didn't think it was fair to either of them if they did much more without talking first.

Quinn guessed that Rachel was giving her some extra time to herself because the new apartment was not that large and it wouldn't have taken a couple of minutes to retrieve a book that had been left open on the couch. She made the odd teasing comment about Rachel's little legs but they weren't _that_ small.

Quinn appeared relieved when Rachel finally returned, in almost the exact position she had been left in. She watched Rachel climb up onto the bed and settle down, folding an arm behind her head as she held the pages of the journal open with the open fingers of her other hand. Rachel lay close to Quinn but not close enough because Quinn turned on her side to be closer to her, leisurely rubbing her hand over Rachel's stomach as dreams from months ago were read aloud, complete with giggles.

Rachel could feel the gaze on her as she read, silently or aloud, and after several pages she mirrored Quinn's position of turning onto her side, dropping the arm that had been casually slung around her own head to Quinn's pillows, stroking her fingers through blonde hair. The book was held between them now, Rachel smiling as she read the fascinating oddness to Quinn's unconscious mind, and also the dreams where Quinn's waking personality shone through.

The first touch of Quinn's hand trailing past the hem of Rachel's skirt and down the back of her thigh was enough to make her have to concentrate on the written words just that little bit harder, and when Quinn stopped at the back of Rachel's calf and easily lifted her leg to hook around her hip, Rachel stopped talking altogether.

"Go on," Quinn urged quietly. If Rachel kept looking at her like that, with darkened eyes bridled with curiosity and desire, she wouldn't be able to think.

Rachel thought on it for a second and curled her leg forward, aligning their bodies closer together before focusing back on the pages. She read silently for the most part, occasionally asking Quinn if she was _sure_ she didn't embellish any details because some of them were almost too eccentric to be real.

"Did you meet anyone?" Quinn asked after a while, vulnerably curious. Working up the courage to ask in the first place had her forget to clarify the question.

Rachel looked away from some doodles. "What?"

"When I was away. Was there someone?"

"No," she frowned gently. They'd already had this conversation. Granted it had been over the phone not long after Quinn had gotten out of rehab, but still. Rachel took another glance at the page she'd been on before closing the book. "I told you, I haven't been with anyone since Tony."

"I don't mean sex, I mean in general. Did you meet anyone you clicked with?"

Rachel made a sound of mild displeasure that the topic hadn't died with her definite answer. "Quinn."

"Because I would want you to tell me," Quinn said honestly. "You can be honest with me; I won't go off the rails. There was no reason you couldn't have been happy with someone, even for a short amount of time. I would… I would want that for you. And I would understand."

"I can make someone up, if you want? If that would make you feel better."

Quinn slung her arm over Rachel's waist. "You know what I want."

"Quinn, the truth is that I meet incredible people all the time; you know, gorgeous a-and funny, and so smart and talented, but it doesn't always to lead to anything. For a lot of different reasons. And for what I hope to be the last time, I did not meet a potential significant other while my— while you were away."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't looking." That was the truth. "And honestly, considering everything that happened up until that point, it was nice taking some time to myself."

Quinn's doubts began to slither out of her head, relief loosening a knot in her stomach. "Okay."

Rachel suddenly recalled their previous conversation on if she had met anybody. They hadn't talked about Quinn. Rachel hadn't thought to ask her the same question and she wished now that she'd done it a lot sooner. "Was there someone for you?"

"Yeah, I really had the time and inclination to start something in there."

"It's not out of the realm of possibilities," Rachel challenged.

"It was for me," Quinn said. "I went there to find myself again, not anybody else. Trust me, my days were always full."

"But you met people you liked. You met friends there; people who could understand you on a level that maybe someone else couldn't even if they wanted to more than anything."

"Friends, yeah. Not anybody I could see myself being with."

Rachel pushed her lips together in response; a show of sympathy. "That's disappointing."

After spotting a teasing glint, Quinn's mouth quirked and she ran her hand as far up the back of Rachel's thigh as she dared to and then down again, repeating. "You look pretty torn up about that."

"Oh, I am."

Quinn had come a long way in a short amount of time but by no means was her work done. She didn't want Rachel to think that just because she was in a much better place than before it meant she'd been cured. She slowly turned serious again. "Rachel, you know I still have a long way to go, don't you?"

Rachel decided that Quinn probably wasn't talking about the placement of her hand, because, well, she would have had to disagree. "I know."

"I'm going to have to work on keeping myself healthy in every way possible for the rest of my life, but in order to do that I have to let go of the past, demons, and it's not easy. It won't be easy. I still have bad days and bad thoughts. I have to make the effort every day, even when I don't want to."

"I don't want easy, I want you."

A slow curve of Quinn's mouth set her eyes alight and she used the pads of her fingers and thumb to spread outwards and inwards on Rachel's thigh, unaware of how much it tickled, and still felt the need to add, "You don't have to decide right now, that's not what this is. I know it's a heavy decision. There's plenty of time for you to think about if you're ready for a relationship now, or ever. I'm going to need more patience and support and…ass-kicking than your typical partner would need. I'm at that place where I can give it all right back to you now, but it just…it's a lot. It's a lot, and I know that."

"Does it look like I need to think about it?" Rachel questioned, her leg still hiked over Quinn's hip. "I've been right here, Quinn, and I feel strong and positive and prepared for what your recovery entails. I've been doing a lot of reading about people who are in relationships or are even married to a recovering addict. I know what to expect. And in case I haven't proven it by now, I'm crazy about you. The question is really more directed towards you. Do you feel ready for a relationship? Because you know I'm not going anywhere any time soon. This is about both of us and we both have to be ready."

Quinn had spoken to her therapist about the possibility of being with Rachel when she was better. She'd been told of the dangers of a new relationship and the damage it could do to recovery and then how having a partner who was truly dedicated to keeping her clean could be exactly what she needed to help her flourish. Quinn, at the behest of her therapist, had considered being with someone different. It was difficult to imagine at first but it came to her eventually, although the woman remained faceless for the length of the exercise, Quinn couldn't truly picture a scenario totally free of doubt. She felt like she would constantly be paranoid that she was being judged, and her partner would frequently go through her things or ask if she was back on drugs at the slightest disturbance to routine.

She asked her therapist if he thought that entering a new relationship with someone who knew and stuck by her even during the worst times would be less of a danger than with one with a completely new person. He wasn't a huge help when he said that it would depend if Rachel was the type of person to dredge up the past and throw it in her face during new rough times that would inevitably come. If he was being honest and entirely objective, he would say that it could go either way. Rachel remembering the worst days could be a positive thing; knowing how far Quinn had come, and oppositely, Rachel would know how far Quinn could fall. The only way they would truly know for sure would be to take a chance. But a serious partner, whoever it turned out to be, would benefit greatly from shared appointments. Their relationship would have to be the truest form of a partnership to be successful.

"Do you know why I stopped coming over to your house after Beth?" Quinn asked.

"You didn't want to be my friend anymore."

Her first instinct was deny that, but it was more or less true. "When I think about back then, about our group or whatever you want to call it at that time, I think about the way that I thought of them. I thought of them as friends and treated them as such. I know I could have tried harder sometimes, made more of an effort in just about every area of my life, but I cared about them. Loved them."

Rachel picked up on the hint quickly. "We were friends, too. We were close; closer than I'd been with any of the other girls by that point."

"I know we were," Quinn said, running a comforting hand over Rachel's hip. "But it was also my friends and you. Rachel, in so many ways I thought of you as my friend, but there were so many more that I didn't. Like right now, the ways that I think about you are so different to how I think of our friends and any other good person I've ever had in my life. It's not— I've been here before. It wasn't breaking news when I realised that it'd happened again. But if you only knew how jarring that was to a teenager who hadn't long hidden or changed every little thing about herself so that people would stop picking on her. It was bad enough that I got _pregnant_ , but to be...different in another way was like God was really giving me the finger, like maybe I was being punished for being weak enough to change myself in the first place."

"You survived the loneliest years," Rachel stated. "However a person makes it through those is a good thing. You got through it every day, so every day you were the strongest you'd ever been. Because it does get harder; dealing with the same crap all the time is exhausting and it _hurts_ and you never think it's going to get better, but it does. When life throws something else at you, and it will, you have to tell yourself that you're so much stronger than the last time you faced something because it's a new day. You're the strongest you've ever been."

"When I was Lucy, I thought my loneliest years would be elementary and middle school. A few months at McKinley and I knew I'd been wrong about that. I mean, I had friends the first two years of Glee but it wasn't like now. Everyone was there for each other when it counted, but a lot of the time we were all wrapped up in teenage angst and drama. Maybe not to the extent that I believed —I know the way that I was back then probably affected my perception of things, but it's how I felt. I couldn't deal with things after Beth. My heart was broken, Rachel, in a way that I didn't think was possible, and I was so torn between wanting everyone to stay close to me and wanting you all as far away as I could get you. I couldn't decide which option was better; I just wanted to be able to control the decision."

Rachel tried to understand. "You were depressed because of Beth, and you thought not having friends would help?"

"No, I think I had a serious problem before that," Quinn admitted. "But I didn't acknowledge it or say anything because it wasn't the Fabray way. My Dad never believed in mental illness, especially depression. But Beth was a tipping point. I broke in a lot of ways after her. I lost control and I realised how bitter I was that I felt that way when I _did_ finally have friends. All my life I'd dreamed about having those kinds of friends, but with senior year coming up I knew nothing would change with how I felt. All my accomplishments meant nothing to me when I had failures stacked up just as high, or if I thought about Beth or the way that nothing felt the way that it was supposed to. The years that were supposed to be my best turned out to be my worst and I was so angry, Rachel. I'd worked _so_ hard and I felt like I'd gotten nowhere despite of that."

"Why didn't you let any of us help you?" Rachel asked, her voice sounding as mystified as she looked. Quinn had been so serious saying all of those things that the small smile that appeared on her face almost looked out of place in that moment.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to admit defeat, even now? Think about what it would have been like in high school. I would have murdered anyone who dared to say that I'd failed to my face."

The funny thing was that Rachel could imagine the teenaged version of herself marching up to Quinn with a hand on her hip and a haughty expression on her face and doing exactly that. Either before she knew who Quinn really was, or not long into their junior year when she was so bitter and hurt that she had basically been dropped like she meant nothing. "So, what made senior year different to the summer we were close? You trusted me then. You opened up and told me things that I didn't think you would ever tell anybody else. You'd had a school year where we didn't spend any time together outside of Glee obligations. Couldn't you have just come to me? You had to have known that if you'd just asked, I would have done anything for you."

"And I still haven't," Quinn promised. "Not to— I had to tell my therapist things that almost killed me to spit out, but not to anyone else. Jackson knew about Beth, but I never spoke about her in detail. All he knew was that I got pregnant at a time where I couldn't properly take care of another person and I decided to give her to somebody who could. It was them and you, Rachel. Even then. Even now. But I was spiralling and everything was changing soon anyway, and so it felt like whichever way I looked at it I would be selfish. Come to you for help and burden you and our friends with my issues on your senior year, or do exactly what I wanted to do to feel better, no matter how destructive to myself or those around me."

Everything had been so loud and messy inside her head that she'd forgotten that it could be quiet and controlled. Quinn knew now that there was one thing she would certainly always be able to control, and that was her own mind. She had all the power.

A wry, playful expression grew on her face as she watched Rachel's concerned stare. "The point to that uplifting journey down memory lane was to tell you that I remember needing and wanting you at sixteen, and that hasn't changed. It's gotten stronger; we're not kids anymore and we've been through a lot, but it hasn't changed." Quinn's hand only left its spot on Rachel's hip to find her hand instead, pushing their fingers together. "I look at you and I see so many things. I'm sure of so many things."

Rachel nodded, her mouth tightening for the barest second while she blinked several times in quick succession. "Me too, Quinn," she echoed softly, waiting only a second to lean forward and join their lips.

There was nothing Rachel wanted more than to be with Quinn now that they were both ready and in the right place in their lives. Despite the magnetic pull towards her during the recording of the album and how angry she'd once gotten at Kurt for stating that Quinn wasn't in the right place then to start anything, that her feelings were so obvious that her best friend picked up on them without being told, Rachel understood and agreed with him now. This was a good time; they had both taken time to work on themselves and they were both committed and prepared for the future. Any other time would have been a disservice to how good she knew they could be.

Their kisses grew longer and longer until Rachel gently coaxed Quinn onto her back and used her forearm to prop herself up, the other locked around the other side of Quinn's body. After a while she slid down against Quinn's hips a fraction to be able to lower her mouth and kiss a pale smooth throat that had been begging for her attention all night, even through dinner.

Rachel could feel Quinn breathing against her, fingers trailing over her back and arms as Quinn's breaths steadily grew shorter and heavier, tipping her head back for a quiet but insuppressible moan to pass through her mouth.

Rachel knew that sex had been pleasurable for Quinn over the past few years but just never satisfying. She understood that Quinn wasn't necessarily shy about what she needed or wanted in bed but it'd been a long time since she'd been satisfied. Somewhere along the way Rachel imagined that Quinn would have clung to the act of not coming as a form of control with her partners being that she had such little control over many other things in her life. Rachel hadn't asked Quinn to confirm that yet but it was a well-formed theory inside her head.

It was around the time that Quinn would reverse their positions of power and Rachel didn't need to be told that it was time to stop, so she dragged her lips over Quinn's throat and began to make her way back to the tempting mouth waiting for her when Quinn exposed more of her neck. Rachel took the hint fairly quickly.

A similar sound was produced from Quinn shortly after, when Rachel's hand slid up her torso and swept over her breast as a warm tongue swept across the stimulated skin of her throat and was chased with a soft kiss. Rachel continued until Quinn couldn't stand the lack of pressure of Rachel's mouth being anywhere but on her own, and then they were kissing again; seeking out the softness of each other's mouth over again.

Rachel found it more difficult to be considerate or rational when she thought of how much had changed for the better in the past few months and when they were kissing heatedly with Quinn's hands at her hip and the curve of her thigh, urging her closer with a reflexive pulls and tugs every so often over the next few minutes, building her up to the point that she had to turn her mouth away to collect herself. Rachel felt Quinn kiss to the side of it, eager to kiss wherever she could, but pulled back in favour of a searching look to Quinn's face, knowing her own desire was easily detectible.

They stared at each other.

Quinn's hands steadied Rachel as she rose to a sitting position and her hands moved to curl her fingers into the thin material of Rachel's top, watching closely for any sign to stop as she began to peel the article of clothing off but all Rachel did was raise her arms to aid in the removal prior to slipping them around Quinn's neck and leaning back in.

The kiss was headier than the others, hungry and consuming in the way that Rachel didn't even gasp softly into Quinn's mouth when she felt cool hands on the overheated skin of her back as she'd done before when they'd gotten a little handsy, and she didn't resist when she was twisted onto her back with Quinn suddenly sat astride her. Rachel's pulse spiked at the sight of it, and of Quinn watching her, but the most remarkable moment came when Quinn bunched her dress in her hands and pulled it up over her hips, arching her back to remove it completely.

Rachel smiled and moved her hands to Quinn's legs, keeping their gaze fixed while the barest flicker of anxiety flashed over Quinn's face and disappeared to give way to a pretty, soft laugh before lowering herself down.

Quinn brushed their lips together, retreating whenever she felt Rachel open her mouth wider and tilt her head upwards in search of a full kiss. Not that she had a single doubt, but she liked feeling Rachel so eager for her. Quinn also strangely liked the way that she was given a taste of her own medicine when she finally leaned down to kiss Rachel's mouth properly and Rachel turned away, only allowing the barest touch of their lips each time she tried to catch them. Quinn laughed softly at the gloating smile on Rachel's face before she kissed it away, anchoring a hand to Rachel's face to hold her in place.

Rachel slowly scraped her blunt nails at the back of Quinn's neck, playful kisses having long given way to needy ones. The gentle press of Quinn's body pushing hers into the mattress and the skill of her mouth progressively sent Rachel towards an undeniable need and she couldn't stifle a moan when Quinn slowly pressed herself against Rachel's hips.

"Take it off," Quinn requested, lifting off her long enough for the zipper to be dragged down and the skirt to be tossed to the floor.

Rachel stripped herself of a bra next, watching with uninhibited desire as Quinn's arms bent behind her own back momentarily and swept an opposite hand down each arm from the shoulder until the garment had joined Rachel's on the floor. Rachel's eyes lowered to full, pale breasts and the hardened pink nipples she'd been able to feel pushed against her own chest and could think of nothing but her desire to take one of them into her mouth. She looked into Quinn's eyes when she reached down to remove the final piece of clothing she had on, and then Quinn was against her, kissing deeply and deliberately.

The sensation of Quinn's body underneath or on top of hers was always guaranteed to garner a physical response from Rachel, and the added perception of Quinn's bare breasts pushed against her chest now had her desperate for Quinn, for anything. For everything.

The moment their mouths separated, Quinn dipped her head to Rachel's neck until she could kiss her there; swirl her tongue about the skin and luxuriate in the way a soft sound escaped Rachel's throat as she pushed her hips up. Quinn's mouth stilled at Rachel's neck, a small hitch to her breath before she adjusted the alignment of their hips and ground her pelvis down in return. A breathy moan later and Quinn felt Rachel start a rhythmic slow rock of her hips, sending the pit of her stomach warm and tense with a steady gathering of wetness that rushed when she sat on top of Rachel and put her hands to the silky skin of her abdomen, spreading her fingers out as she mapped along it, journeying farther to sensitive sides before roaming inwards and upwards to close around the soft, full weight of Rachel's breasts for the first time.

Rachel's mouth parted at the sensation, groaning when Quinn's thumbs brushed over her stiff nipples. She kept her eyes open and on Quinn, whose attention was captivated with her own actions and the reactions they were evoking, and whose breaths were only a little less choppy as she squeezed and kneaded the flesh, occasionally switching from a gentle exploration of Rachel's breasts to pinch and tug and hear the breathy little whimpers that would be produced from such an act.

Rachel thought she was wet before Quinn shifted down her body a little and maintained eye-contact for a long as she could when her head lowered, swirling her tongue around a recently abused nipple and then enveloping it into her mouth.

Quinn thought Rachel's tits were spectacular. She couldn't stop her mouth or fingers on them, especially when the legs pushed either side of her would tighten even further during a push of Rachel's chest and the soft sound that clung to Rachel's throat as her back arched further into Quinn's mouth. Quinn felt Rachel's heat and wetness against her stomach and moaned into the flesh sucked inside of her mouth.

Rachel had scarcely begun to process the lack of Quinn's weight against her hips, where she needed it, when Quinn's thighs were spread over one of Rachel's with strong, slim fingers trailing down her body. Her breaths were short and heavy with anticipation.

"Quinn, are you sure?" Rachel rushed out in a breath. Their actions had obviously been leading towards it but that didn't mean that Quinn couldn't or wouldn't change her mind. Fingers stilled high on her thigh and she looked up at the heavy eyes staring down at her. Quinn's eyes were always so striking; it hardly seemed fair at how much power they held over Rachel. She didn't even realise what was about to happen when Quinn hovered on top of her again and reached for her hand to guide it inside her underwear.

Rachel's eyes fluttered shut at the heat and abundance of wetness she found between Quinn's legs, her body flushing with need as Quinn held her hand in place and moved against it a few times, a strangled sound passing through her mouth. Rachel didn't think she would ever get used to hearing that kind of sound come from Quinn, and when Rachel forced her eyes open she found her still looking during leisurely but purposeful rocks of her hips. After only a moment Rachel moaned when another warm rush of wetness coated her fingers.

Quinn dropped her body down and kissed Rachel deeply, removing her hand from inside her underwear so that her attention wasn't so split that she wouldn't be able to focus. Quinn settled back over Rachel's thigh instead, pushing hers up between Rachel's legs as they kissed and touched. Rachel's nails dug into the small of Quinn's back and scratched during a particularly desperate pull of her hips but Quinn kissed her harder in response, abandoning a breast to drag her hand back down Rachel's body and dip between her legs.

Rachel's mouth stilled as Quinn's fingers moved over the most intimate part of her, sucking in a soft breath and tipping her head back when those fingers finally pushed inside. She moaned when a rhythm slowly began, angling her head to kiss Quinn deeply as she spread wider for her and pushed a sporadically tense thigh up hard between Quinn's legs.

It grew steadily more difficult to keep up a kiss when pleasure coursed through her with each push and curl of Quinn's fingers or swipe of her thumb. All the breath she had was panted, softly gasped or trapped in her throat as she moaned, her body stiffening tighter with the more minutes passed.

Quinn's head was against Rachel's on the pillow and Rachel heard an echoing moan when she flooded again, tightening around Quinn's fingers.

"Rachel," Quinn choked out, only a second before she repositioned her hand and sunk her fingers back in as far as they would go, the heel of her palm providing the extra stimulation to Rachel's clit.

Rachel didn't swear very often and Quinn found it gratifying to hear a curse breathed out as she worked her fingers faster, a mixed sound of a moan and a whimper chasing it, and Quinn thought she might self-combust with the height of her own arousal as Rachel met every thrust. She hadn't been this out of her mind to fuck in so long that she could barely remember if it had ever happened. Rachel's walls began to spasm around her fingers and Quinn turned her head to capture her mouth again.

Rachel returned another

kiss and then Quinn's hand began to slow its ministrations as she crawled down Rachel's body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin as she went.

Rachel's chest heaved at the sight of Quinn looking up at her from between her legs, one arm hooked around her thigh, and her head fell back at the touch of Quinn's flattened tongue running up through the length of her. She was close before Quinn's warm mouth had begun to lick and suck her into a frenzied state of ecstasy, so when strong fingers pushed back inside her and struck up a fast pace it was all Rachel could do to hold on for even a moment longer.

But Quinn slowed down when she heard the desperate pitch to Rachel's panted breaths, feeling the tautness to her body as she arched and strained into everything she was being given. Quinn wanted to delay the orgasm as long as possible, prolonging the build-up for as long as she could. She ate Rachel slowly and patiently, only paying minimal attention to her clit until Rachel moaned loudly at the contact and dug her nails into the arm hooked around her thigh to encourage more, unable to stand being on the cusp of orgasm any longer.

It was apparently the sign Quinn needed.

Although she didn't lose any of the patience, her tongue and mouth worked more purposefully, gradually working her fingers from a slow pump to harder and faster thrusts when she felt Rachel begin to tighten further around them.

Rachel's grew shorter and shorter until she stiffened one final time, pleasure exploding out as her orgasm hit. She moaned loudly, pushing her hips into Quinn's mouth as she rode through it as long as she could.

Rachel slumped back against the bed when the last wave ebbed, useless for the moment, while Quinn withdrew her fingers to a quiet gasp and lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She finally kissed Rachel's thighs, feeling them twitch slightly, especially when she used her tongue. Quinn made her way back up Rachel's body in much of the same way as she'd descended it; pressing her mouth into every inch of skin she possibly could. By the time she made it to Rachel's mouth, she had recovered enough to meet her with the most rewardingly deep kiss.

Quinn was between Rachel's open legs and she slid her hands down to Quinn's ass, spreading her fingers to grip more of it and pull her closer. Quinn was still wearing underwear.

"Take them off," she said when they broke apart, her chest expanding against Quinn's with a strong inhalation as her neck was kissed. Rachel's eyes practically rolled back when Quinn rocked their hips together and tongued her throat.

"Rather watch you do it."

And that was how Quinn found herself twisted onto her back with Rachel on top of her, a passionate kiss to her lips. It was her turn to be overtaken with pleasure when, several moments later, Rachel's head lowered to take one of Quinn's breasts in her mouth, fondling the other one with her hand.

Quinn felt bereft at the lack of contact when Rachel finally pulled away, but only until she opened her eyes and saw her looking down with that darkened gaze that pierced right through Quinn every time as Rachel kneeled, her hands positioned at the waistband of Quinn's visibly wet underwear but not moving. Rachel didn't move until Quinn lifted her hips impatiently, and then a light-hearted smirk pulled at Rachel's mouth at the gesture, dragging the piece of cloth down Quinn's legs slowly, dropping them to the floor once they were off completely.

Rachel's hands were on Quinn's legs, bent slightly at the knees. She looked down to her, saw the way her face was flushed with arousal and how her breaths were slow and heavy, and moving her hands over the skin as she took in everything her eyes could see. Neither hand remained stationary but one ventured further down Quinn's thigh than the other, smoothing her hand up and down it before she applied pressure to spread enough space for her to fit back into.

They both moaned at the contact and Quinn hooked one of her legs around the back of Rachel's. She was so wet but she could hardly stand to stop kissing Rachel so she didn't, finding a solution to her predicament by rolling her hips upward to relieve some of the pressure.

But Rachel had barely had the chance to explore Quinn's body and broke away from her lips to discover which parts of Quinn's torso responded the fastest and strongest to her mouth and fingers. She visited several areas more than once when they garnered moans or a hitch in breath, or both. Unsurprisingly, Rachel revisited Quinn's breasts the most often and was back there now, feeling Quinn arch her chest into her mouth as she flicked her tongue over a hot, erect nipple and then drew it tighter into her mouth, sucking.

Needy sounds emitted from Quinn's throat frequently and she was so desperate that she gently pushed on Rachel's shoulder, unable to find any more relief whenever she raised her hips to seek out the friction she craved. All it succeeded in doing was working her up even further and she wouldn't be satisfied until it was Rachel's efforts.

Rachel immediately set off to give Quinn what she wanted.

She released her breast from her mouth with one final kiss and kneaded the other, bringing her hand to Quinn's forearm. Rachel opened her eyes to look at it. There were a couple of old track marks to the inside of it, silvery white. Rachel kissed them all, even the healed skin she had once been horrified to see punctured, and Quinn was so dazed by it that it seemed like Rachel had lowered herself between her legs in the blink of an eye.

The reality of Quinn lying naked and wet beneath her, legs spread open, overtook Rachel's entire body and mind.

She took Quinn into her mouth and a strangled gasp and moan accompanied a hard, slow grind of Quinn's hips into her face. It made Rachel need her again. She gripped Quinn's thighs and her head slowly bobbed with her efforts over the next few minutes, unrushed by Quinn's growing desperation.

That was until Quinn's heels against the bed almost roughly pushed her hips against Rachel's face and she began to chant a string of the same curse. Rachel pulled away to shake her hair out of her face and push her fingers inside, feeling Quinn clench around them immediately. She alternated her pace and got the same wanton reaction with each drive.

Quinn's heavy breath began to hitch and her thighs tightened around Rachel who had lowered her head again, thundering towards a kind of pleasure that had reduced her to an incoherent mess. In the midst of it, she blindly reached down to grip on to the hand digging into her hip and squeezed her eyes shut, powerless to do anything else but rock her hips until pleasure seized her entire body and her back arched off the bed violently, using her heels to push herself further against Rachel's mouth and fingers. She shook with it, clinging to and relishing in each wave of her orgasm until it passed and she felt deliriously happy and sated but without bones as she slumped back.

Her heart jumped and raced brutally and unevenly and she threw an arm over her eyes as she tried to focus on catching her breath and not the aftershocks.

Rachel looked up and watched Quinn suck her bottom lip into her mouth, her rapidly-moving chest steadily beginning to slow with calculated breaths, and Rachel didn't think she'd ever seen Quinn more beautiful or desirable.

The soft kisses to one of Quinn's thighs succeeded in soothing her, and then they turned wet. She held her breath in anticipation when she felt the warm sensation of Rachel's over her centre and groaned at the first contact, still managing to be surprised by it, and at the inexplicable softness of Rachel's mouth and tongue that worked her towards a second orgasm at alarming speed.

Rachel decided to wait a little while before trying for a third.

She gave Quinn time to recover and journeyed back up her body, smiling when she saw the unconcealed smile on Quinn's face.

"God, Rachel," Quinn laughed, tipping her head up as Rachel hovered above her and then lowered for a kiss.

"Do you have any sorbet?" Rachel asked idly some time later, when they had moved under the covers.

"Didn't you have dessert at the restaurant, or was that someone else I was with?"

She suppressed a smile. "Hey, I— I would just like something cold and sweet, that's all. I didn't think you would have any ice cream that I can eat. Unless you do, in which case I will have that and you will have an apology."

Quinn looked down to big brown eyes innocently peering up at her. "Oh, you will?" Rachel nodded. Quinn hummed thoughtfully and pecked Rachel on the mouth before getting out of bed. She was almost certain she hadn't brought any kind of dessert in the past month but who knew what surprise laid waiting for her.

X

After more than a handful of sessions with her therapist and talking to Rachel and their friends about what a second album would mean for her, her needs throughout the recording process and the attention that would follow it being as she'd be around for it this time, Quinn agreed to do it. She wasn't the singer that some members of the group were, and maybe she wasn't quite as passionate about singing as others were even though she enjoyed it, but she still knew she was good enough and excited enough to be a part of something special while she figured out which step to take next.

Her mother's departure was saddening.

There were tears on both sides, but flights booked and dates written in personal calendars and cell phone calendars of when they would be seeing each other again —in one month. Quinn promised she would call her and Judy make a point to reiterate how proud she was of Quinn and that any time of the day or night was acceptable to call, for any reason. They hugged for a long time, which was rare for them even on the better ground that they stood on these days, and just before Judy unwound her arms from her daughter she uttered a tentative but sincere sentiment.

"I love you, sweetheart."

There was no time for Quinn to react outwardly before Judy kissed her face and promised to call her when she landed in Ohio, turning on her heel to make a quick exit. Quinn had been rooted to the spot at the time, but she'd thought of it a lot in the days following. It was only when their third hour-long phone call of the week was coming to a close that she said it back.

Quinn wondered when Rachel would say it.

How they felt about each other wasn't exactly a secret —or if it was, it was a terribly-kept one— but neither of them had verbalised it in so many words yet. There was no rush as far as Quinn was concerned; she could see it with Rachel's every glance and the way she kissed her, how she was with her, and Quinn thought that unless Rachel was blind, she would be able to see the same every time she looked at her or touched her.

Quinn knocked on the door and waited patiently for it to be opened.

Something dropped to the floor inside and then there were only a handful of seconds before the door was pulled open in a hurry, a flustered Rachel appearing on the other side of it. Quinn's mouth curved upwards at the sight of her, trailing an appreciative gaze down her body to find that Rachel was only wearing one heel; her left foot hovering over the floor as she was boosted three inches higher with her right leg.

A flustered Rachel was an attractive Rachel.

Whenever she smiled or her mouth was set —as it currently was, dimples appeared in Rachel's cheeks. Quinn leaned in and turned to the side to kiss one of them. "Hi."

Rachel melted a little at the contact. A little, but not entirely. She'd been filming a commercial for her newly renewed endorsement contract all day and it ran over by three hours, not to mention the traffic and Andrew got stuck in on the way home. She'd had to rush to get ready and prepare dinner as it was, and now Quinn was early, looking so good that Rachel considered pulling her inside the apartment and flattening her against the door. Instead, she did nothing and what came out of her mouth was a vaguely confused, "You're early."

"Yes," Quinn confirmed with a nod. "Wanted to see you earlier, so I came earlier. Forward thinking or what?"

"You have a very sharp mind," Rachel returned, moving to wordlessly invite Quinn inside by taking grossly uneven steps backwards.

Quinn spotted Rachel's other heel across the room and made a beeline for it.

"Here you go, Cinderella," she said once she'd made her way to the kitchen, where Rachel had hobbled to, probably to check whatever smelled good on the stove. Quinn crouched and held the front base of the shoe as Rachel's small foot pushed into it. It was a worthwhile gesture. When she pushed back to full height the hard line had disappeared from Rachel's brows, signalling the end of whatever frustration she'd had.

The other sign could have been the deep kiss Rachel gave her, but Quinn might not have been certain unless she'd seen the eyebrows.

They took it in turns to have each other over for dinner and it was Rachel's turn again. Quinn had been anticipating the food all day. She plucked a slice of cucumber out of the salad that Rachel had already prepared.

They talked while dinner was cooking and Rachel let Quinn set the table, much to both of their surprise. Rachel adjusted the placement of the candles and water glasses, for peace of mind more than anything, and she looked up guiltily to spot a light-hearted roll of Quinn's eyes.

"One day," Quinn predicted.

Rachel nodded pacifyingly but didn't really mean it. Her face turned serious with a gasp. "I have something for you!"

Quinn's mouth tightened with a smile. "Oh?"

"Yes."

Rachel hurried off through the apartment and Quinn remained seated at the sofa. When Rachel returned, Quinn looked to her hands and her eyebrows lifted as she breathed out a nervous laugh.

It was her leather jacket.

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah, I kept it. It made me feel better sometimes and I didn't know if you would want it when you got out. I mean, I—I had to put it at the back of the closet eventually because it made me kind of sad to see it hanging on the same hook every day knowing that it hadn't moved, but I still… here."

Quinn reached forward to take it out of Rachel's hands. She didn't know if it was strange to have missed it because it was just a jacket but it'd made her feel a little less vulnerable during times when she felt nothing but. She lifted her eyes to Rachel's and smiled slightly to take the hesitant look out of those staring back at her. "I wondered what happened to this."

"Do you want to keep it?" Rachel asked curiously and it was a while before there was a scrunch to Quinn's mouth and a soft tone to her voice.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Quinn nodded but moved her hands to root through the pockets. "I loved this," she said. "But it reminds me so much of that time of my life, I don't think it would be right if I kept it."

"Maybe you could get a different one," Rachel suggested.

Quinn would definitely be getting a new one. She pushed her teeth into her bottom lip when her fingers came into contact with something small and plastic, pulling out an electric blue disposable lighter. "Need a light?"

Rachel's eyes brightened. "We can light the candles with that!" She'd misplaced her candle lighter last week.

Quinn considered that response with a slow nod. "What I meant," she said, grinning when Rachel tried her best to look unimpressed.

Cigarettes were hardly in the same category as illegal drugs but all the same, Rachel didn't particularly want Quinn near them. "I can't kiss a smoker," she stated. "It would be like tonguing an ash tray."

"Do that often, do you?" Quinn asked as she leaned forward to light a scented candle on the coffee table.

"I'd do that more often than kiss you if you still smoked."

She turned to the side and leaned forward to kiss Rachel on the mouth. "Doubt it."

Over dinner, Quinn decided to be the one to throw the jacket away. She thought it was only fitting. They were back on the couch an hour and half later, recovering from the amount of food they'd just eaten. Quinn ate more than Rachel did, and when she moved back over to the couch Rachel followed with two small servings of raspberry sorbet and a little smirk on her mouth that made Quinn want to take her on the couch. She might have done, had she not been full enough to burst. The sorbet actually helped.

There was nothing on TV and Rachel couldn't be bothered to keep flicking through when there was still dessert to be eaten, so she left the news on, watching intently. The Nightly News was on and Rachel recognised the male reporter from when she'd last watched a special Nightly News report. He'd basically put the idea of an album in her head.

Rachel looked over at Quinn and her faint smile froze when she saw the concerned stare. "What?" she asked immediately.

"That report is saying that eleven people got serious burns from a fire in a retirement home, and you're smiling."

"Not at _that_. I just…know that guy, and I'm happy."

"Oh, yeah? You guys record an album together, too?"

"Maybe we will, for those senior citizens," Rachel returned, her tone light and sassy. "And I can be happy. It is allowed in the state of New York. I'm not going to be arrested and taken downtown."

There was a small, private smile at Quinn's mouth. She was glad Rachel was happy, and hoped she was part of the reason why. "Nobody is happy watching the news. It's full of death reports or people who had something terrible happen to them."

Following the fire at the retirement home, the death of a Hispanic woman and her infant son was reported. Rachel promptly changed the channel. "That was quite obviously a fluke." She didn't like the way Quinn's brow was arched challengingly. "If you paid attention to parts other than those that add strength to your claim, you'd know that there are lots of inspiring stories of triumph, o-of where people beat the odds even when they're stacked against them."

Quinn made a sound of disinterest as she finished off her sorbet. "Rather look at you."

Rachel couldn't argue with that.

They'd both finished their dessert and put the small glass bowls on the table when Rachel laughed after a moment and blindly found Quinn's hand, rubbing hers over the top of it. "I meant to tell you, I had a dream about you last night."

"Do I want to know?"

"Yes. So, we were in school—"

"School?" It was easy to detect the disdain already.

"Yes. So anyway, we were in school and I remember staring at you, like, all the time," Rachel laughed. "It wasn't like I was following you or anything but we ended in the same place _all_ the time, and you kept turning around glaring at me —because of course my eyes were glued to you each and every time— and you'd go ' _what?'_ like you were so affected and irritated by it."

Quinn's brows furrowed. "Didn't that happen?" She was amused at Rachel's immediate expression of absolute denial. "I'm pretty sure it did. A bunch of times, actually."

"We _both_ may have looked occasionally, but certainly not to that extent. We had boyfriends," Rachel pointed out smugly, thinking that little fact settled it. Thinking that it cancelled out her crush in the first place.

"Not always, and Finn and Sam? We could have been fucking and they wouldn't have noticed."

Rachel's response got trapped in her throat, eyes glazing over slightly. When she snapped out of it, a slow smile blossomed over her face. "Do you ever think about back then?" she asked shyly. "Before we were close, or even friends at all. Imagine knowing that one day I'd have my head between your legs. Do you think it would have solved some of the immediate tension between us?"

Quinn chuckled. "Ah, no."

"And vice versa, of course."

"Definitely not."

"Really? Why not?" Rachel knew why, she just liked to be playful with Quinn.

"About a million reasons."

"I think it would have been nice to know. Distracting," she admitted, "but nice. All those times I had a bad day or we fought, just... get a visual." Rachel smiled at Quinn's eye-roll and gasped at a new possibility. "Or during a solo."

Quinn laughed properly. "Shut up."

"A solo at a competition. I would have gone off-key." Rachel was so charmed by the pink tinge to Quinn's face that she leaned over and kissed it, waiting for Quinn to turn to her before pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. She looked studied her, bringing a hand up to Quinn's face. "You know, I wouldn't change anything," she said quietly. "How we got here; you, any of it." There was a beat of comfortable silence before, "maybe one thing" slashed through it.

That 'thing' was a person, but of the evil variety. Rachel never wanted to say his name again.

Quinn kissed her again. "Oh, I would change a lot of things," she admitted, kissing Rachel on the nose next. "But nothing about you." Her mouth dropped back to Rachel's and they kissed slowly until Quinn pulled away, opening her eyes to Rachel's slightly dazed ones. "Maybe one thing," she added cheekily.

It was enough to sober Rachel a little of the effect Quinn had on her when she got too close, replacing it with warmth that she had only felt to this degree when she was around Quinn. It'd been present with past significant others (of both sex) but not like this. Nobody knew her like Quinn did. Nobody had tried so hard to be good enough to be with her the way that Quinn had, and it felt wonderful to know that she was out of her mind crazy about someone like that, who clearly returned the feelings.

The future wouldn't be perfect in a traditional sense but staying this happy would be more than Rachel could ever really ask for, and there was no reason she couldn't be if they both remained healthy and focused, keeping the promise of making an effort every day. And as far as Rachel was concerned, they would. She would.

Again and again, just like always.


End file.
